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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635785">The Bad Cop, Worse Cop Adventures of Freckles and Feathers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicethrutheburrows/pseuds/Alicethrutheburrows'>Alicethrutheburrows</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ADA Sam, Accidentally drugging (Cas), Action, Action &amp; Romance, Action-packed/Guns a Blazing Boys, Action/Adventure, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Bad Cop/Worse Cop, Bad guys always lose, Based in Miami, Bobby totally knows, Canon Character Death: Kevin “dies”, Cas gets kidnapped, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Crimes &amp; Criminals, Cut that tension with a knife, Dean believes in consent, Drug Busts, Enemies to Partners, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling for your partner is a no no, Hacker Charlie, Hand to Hand Combat, Happy Ending, Heat of the moment first kiss, I promise a happy ending, M/M, Miami Vice inspired Cop AU, Mini Slow Burn, Nicknames, Prankster Dean, Sexy Dancing in da the club, Shower Casturbation, Smut, Snark dialed up to 11, Super Amazing Art, TFW plus Charlie take down a crime syndicate, Tactical Narcotics Team Dean &amp; Cas, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean, Trust-Fund Baby Cas, alternating POV’s, badass art, bed sharing, but no one told Dean, sabriel if you squint, slightly open ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:53:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>45,218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicethrutheburrows/pseuds/Alicethrutheburrows</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Miami. A place with beaches, babes, palm trees, and a growing drug-fueled crime organization. To help combat the drugs littering the streets, Captain Singer puts together a Tactical Narcotics Team composed of Miami's two finest and fearless officers. Charming casanova Dean Winchester has fought tooth and nail, rising through the ranks for this position. Trench coat toting Castiel Novak knows more hand-to-hand combative techniques than he does people skills. Between Dean's big mouth and Castiel's take-no-shit attitude, their introductory meeting ends on a less than stellar note and a couple of hard to shake nicknames.</p><p>After six months of partnership, the nicknames have stuck and so has the sexual tension.  When a murder in the middle of the night launches their biggest lead on a cleverly evasive drug lord, Dean is shocked to find Sam at the center of it. Sam comes clean with his involvement and Charlie, their witness, seeks revenge against the man responsible for killing her friend. As the stakes rise higher so do Dean’s feelings putting everything in jeopardy. Is a cop with everything to prove, a cop with everything to lose, one computer hacker witness, and a damn good ADA enough to save the day?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Gabriel/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>BottomDeanBigBang2020, Takeout Tacos, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: Introductions and Nicknames</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! Welcome to my first bang! </p><p>I would like to start with an author's disclaimer: I began writing this story before recent events occurred involving police and if anyone prefers to bookmark it for a later time, I understand....but what is written here doesn't reflect what's happening now in any way, nor is it meant to be anything other than a comedy romance set within a law enforcement story structure. Even if you don't read my story please give my artist <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/search/wandercas/blog/soleeryx">Soleeryx</a> some love, they managed to create some true masterpieces for this story and I am lucky enough to say I earned a wonderful friend from out partnership. </p><p>Now I have to give credit where is credit is due; this story would have not been made possible without the following wonderful individuals. Not only were these lovely humans my cheerleaders, but each individually pushed me to create the best story I could. So, a big heartfelt thank you.</p><p>My Artist, <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/search/wandercas/blog/soleeryx">Soleeryx</a>, I'm so glad to have done this project with you. You made my first bang seamless and amazing. </p><p>My Alpha Reader, <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/search/wandercas/blog/emblue-sparks">Emblue-Sparks</a>, a big thank you. Thank you so much for listening to my plot holes, my crying, my pouting, rereading my story a million times, and still loving me through the process. I would not be the writer I am today without. You are and will forever be my word guardian angel. </p><p>My Beta Reader, <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/search/wandercas/blog/wanderingcas">WanderingCas</a>, you took this grammar riddled pieces and straight-up performed a miracle on it. </p><p>The BDBB Mods, thank you for hosting this challenge. It was a pleasure. <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/search/wandercas/blog/bottomdeanbigbang">Read the other stories for this challenge here!</a></p><p>My Smut Guidance Counselor, <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/search/wandercas/blog/winchestersingerautorepair">Winchestersingerautorepair</a>, a big, big thank you to. You will also be thanking them in the later chapters. </p><p>My Other Pitch-hitter Beta, <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/search/wandercas/blog/deanieweaniewrites">DeanieWeanieWrites</a>, thank you for helping me literally at the drop of the hat. </p><p>And to the rest of my TakeoutTacos team! I love you, thank you for all the support you have given me throughout this process and having faith in me as a writer. </p><p>Without further ado, welcome down my rabbit hole.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
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  </p>
</div><h3>
  <div class="center">Prologue: Introductions and Nicknames</div>
</h3>
<p>“Winchester!” the Captain hollered over the voices chattering in the hustling and bustling bullpen, “my office. NOW.”</p>
<p>Fuck. Following the gruff older man into the private glass office, Dean could count off the top of his head at least three things that Captain Singer could be wanting to “talk” to him about. </p>
<p>The Captain, Bobby Singer, despite his obvious growing age from his full salt-and-pepper-beard and receding hairline, was a spry and no-bullshit leader. He didn’t take crap from no one, not even the pretentious assholes down at City General, always jumped the gun to defend his officers from Internal Affairs. Singer also used to be—Dean’s late father—John Winchester’s partner. </p>
<p>Yeah, Bobby had a soft spot for Dean. He practically raised him and Sam after John had been shot and killed in the line of duty. Being an officer of the law was hardwired into Dean’s DNA—his father a decorated detective, his adopted father the Captain, and his grandfather a well-respected city officer before his death. </p>
<p>“Today’s your lucky day sunshine.” The captain tossed a manila folder in Dean’s lap as he rounded the large wooden desk. “You’re getting a partner.”</p>
<p>“Like hell…” Dean sputtered, trailing his words in disbelief while scanning the contents in his hands as he almost collapsed into his own respective chair. </p>
<p>“I want you on the new tactical narcotics <em>team</em>,” Singer explained. “Team being the key word here son. This is a promotion, not a punishment.”</p>
<p>Promotion. The word echoed in Dean’s head like a distant voice echoing through a cave. Being Bobby’s somewhat adoptive son meant having to be twice as smart, twice as clever, and twice as hardworking to show he had <em>earned</em> his previous promotions without the help of whispered favoritism some of the other officers thought Dean had been shown. He busted his ass day in and day out to work through the ranks and you know what? Dean managed it all on his own. His accomplishments were his alone and he didn’t need some other asshat following him around like some lost puppy slowing him down.</p>
<p>“Bobby, I don’t need a partner,” Dean whined. </p>
<p>“First all, it’s Captain,” the older man snapped, though his bark was worse than his bite, “and yes you do. No more of this flying solo shit you seem set on.” Authority flooded the man’s hard-set eyes, which could only mean the Captain meant fucking business. “There seems to be some new supped-up ecstasy floating around the underground and making its way into some kid's hands. This stuff is killing kids, Dean.” The Captain’s voice took an even more dark, serious tone. “I want this off my streets. I will not stand by while any more innocents die, you understand?”</p>
<p>Dean nodded his head in response. </p>
<p>“So, get your head out yer ass and play nice with your new partner because I’m expecting you to find this devil and send his ass behind bars where he can rot in hell.” </p>
<p>“I can find this bastard on my own Bobby; I don’t need no beat cop slowing me down.”</p>
<p>“Boy, your partner ain’t no beat cop. Look at the damn file in your hand,” the captain said, gesturing at Dean’s hands, “I’m putting the best on this case and this guy—” Bobby paused to stare straight into Dean’s soul in order to make his point, “—<em>is</em> the best, Dean.”</p>
<p>“The best?” Dean huffed, “More like trust fund baby,” scanning the list of high-end military boarding schools the guy had attended before turning his attention to the fucking bulleted list of skills and accomplishments. “Seriously, Bobby who the hell knows this many hand-to-hand combat styles?” Dean shook his head, the guy’s resume was impressive but, “Look this is great on <em>paper</em>, but this guy is probably just some rich asshole playing cop to get his rocks off on the thrills.”</p>
<p>A cleared throat brought Dean’s runaway mouth to a screeching halt. Whirling his head around like an owl—big eyes and mouth slightly open—Dean drowned in the cold, clear lake blue eyes assessing him. </p>
<p>“If I may say,” the top-shelf-whiskey-poured-over-rocks-voice commented, “Money doesn’t make the man, I’m just as much an officer of the law as you are.” </p>
<p>“Castiel Novak, meet Dean Winchester.” The Captain gestured back and forth between the men, a <em>son you sure fucking stepped in it</em> smirk on his face. “Dean, meet Castiel Novak, your new partner.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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  </p>
</div><p>Neither man moved an inch after the introductions, both engaged in a jousting of cold glares. </p>
<p>Dean unconsciously licked his lips, trying to combat the<em> open mouth insert foot</em> feeling he was experiencing. </p>
<p>He should apologize. But apologies were for suckers, and Dean wasn’t no sucker. Better let the new guy know exactly who he was going to be teamed up with; who knows, maybe Dean could get him to quit before he ever needed to worry about calling Mr. Stone Cold Blue Eyes his partner. Throwing his arm over the back of the chair while shifting to better face the chilling set of glaring eyes, Dean plastered on an easy smile, posturing as the poster boy for nonchalance. </p>
<p>Making a dramatic show of examining the other man, Dean dragged his eyes slowly from the leather black shoes to the five o’clock stubble on the guy’s Clark Kent chiseled chin. Dude was wearing an out of place tan trench coat over a designer blue suit with a freaking tie, which not only accented the guy’s freaky blue eyes but was utterly ridiculous to wear in a police station. The guy’s posture was ramrod straight, probably from all the years in those military boarding schools. </p>
<p>The hard-set jaw, the fucking see-into-your-soul eyes, and chilling cool guy air all summed up to Dean wanting crack this guy. </p>
<p>“Listen, ain’t apologizing buddy. This list of bullshit means nothing in my eyes,” Dean said, clicking his tongue at Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass. </p>
<p>“Dean…” Bobby hissed.</p>
<p>“No, I have no problem saying it to his face,” Dean said, raising his hand. He stood, striding right up to his new “partner”, their puffed-up chests all but brushing. “You’re not just some rich asshole. No, you’re just some rich baby in an ugly ass trench coat playing cop.”</p>
<p>To Novak’s credit, he didn’t even act the least bit phased from Dean’s words or the fact Dean was peering down his nose at him. In fact, a fire seemed to engulf his icy eyes and for the life of him, Dean couldn’t look away from those bright flames. </p>
<p>“I didn’t realize being a cop meant being an off-brand lumberjack simpleton who tries and fails to intimidate others by flashing his muscles and running his ignorant mouth.”</p>
<p>Damn. Dean hated to admit it but he kind of liked the feisty side of this dude; liked the idea that the harder he pushed, the more likely he was to get burned. A smirk tugged at Dean’s lips. With the almost coal colored hair and his chin tipped up in defiance, Novak reminded Dean of a chubby, fluffy, slightly angry bird. And the image was just so damn adorable, Dean just wanted to ruffle up the dude’s feathers even more. “Did I rile you up, feathers?”<em> Shit</em>. Would it have killed God to give him a damn mind-to-mouth verbal filter? </p>
<p>“Feathers?” Novak rumbled a mix of confusion and curiosity in his voice. Dude titled his head to the side, like tilting it would help him determine the meaning behind Dean’s nickname.</p>
<p>When in doubt—deflect. Pulling a good ole’ classic Dean Winchester, Dean stepped back, turning his attention anywhere from the too cute to handle head tilt. “Yep, feathers.” Dean said, quickly thinking on his feet, “Because ain’t no one gonna pronounce what was it…Casper? Caster? Carmon?” Dean could hear the grind of the other man’s teeth. </p>
<p>“If ya’ll are done with your pissing contest, will both you plant yer asses in those seats so we can talk business.” The Captain interrupted thankfully before Dean either received a punch in the face or another harsh burn from the<em> I’ll kill you in your sleep</em> stare Novak was radiating. </p>
<p>Novak arched an eyebrow, then stepped around Dean, bumping his shoulder with a tad bit of pent up aggression. “Excuse me, Freckles.”</p>
<p>A flush rose to Dean’s cheek, whether from slight embarrassment or slight rage he wasn’t sure, but he whirled around fast enough to make his head to make sure he had heard the other man right. “Freckles?”</p>
<p>“Freckles. Seems like, what was it—Deanna? Derek? Daniel?—is too hard to pronounce.” </p>
<p>Oh, that smug asshole. Today was going to be the day Dean went to prison for murder. “Oh, you fucking did not...” </p>
<p>“I think I just did…”</p>
<p>“SIT YOUR ASSES DOWN. NOW.” The Captain slammed his fists on the desk. Both boys had the decency to look a tad ashamed at their childish antics while following the Captain’s orders. “Now that you’ve idjits have put your dicks away, let’s come up with a game plan…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Freckles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">Chapter 1: Freckles</div>
</h3><p>Money doesn’t make the man. Castiel has spent every waking moment trying to prove he’s more than just his last name, more than the money his dad left him. From multiple fighting style disciples to world-class war and field training strategists, he’s mastered it all. When the opportunity arose to become part of the tactical narcotics team in his home city of Miami, it was an opportunity too sweet to pass up. </p><p>Except, no amount of training could have prepared Castiel for Dean Winchester.  Fifty percent brute lumberjack, fifty percent cowboy Casanova, and a hundred percent of run his mouth, guns blazing idiot, Dean Winchester was a hurricane of a partner Castiel could have never predicted. And the worst part about being Dean’s partner? Dean’s stupid, adorable freckles. </p><p>Years of military training were forgotten the instant Dean peered down his nose at Castiel during their first meeting. For the first in his life, he froze as he got an up-close and personal look at his new partner. The small dusting of freckles and glittering greens eyes accompanied by sun-kissed skin rocked him to his core until Dean opened his ridiculous mouth and fortunately his brain came back online after plain stupid spilled from Dean’s lips. Not only did Dean insult him, but he also bestowed Castiel with a nickname—Feathers. Where in the universe Dean came up with it Castiel would never know—he wasn’t some kind of bird. </p><p>Apparently, after proving his capabilities time and time again during busts, firefights, and the occasional brawls, he felt he had finally earned Dean’s trust—no, more like his respect. Proving he was as dedicated to the job as Dean and that he was more than just his trust-fund transformed their partnership. Although it didn’t stop Dean from calling him feathers or stop the need to strangle Dean every other minute of the day since he insisted on being a pest. </p><p>And despite their tornado in a trailer park start, Castiel found he simply liked Dean. Let him correct himself for a minute. He didn’t like the Dean never followed the rules or the plan; he didn’t like the Dean who insisted on taking Cas’ car on stakeout and busts because he wouldn’t be caught dead in a police cruiser after becoming a detective—“I did my time in those nasty uncomfortable seats Feathers”; he especially had a personal hatred for the Dean who seemed to hit on everything with two feet and heartbeat. The Dean he did like, though, was fearless, used his street smarts to outwit their criminal counterparts, and never backed down from a fight; although half the fights they ended up in was because he couldn't zip his lips. Just thinking about the situations they could have circumvented if Dean wasn’t a shoot first ask questions later kind of guy made Castiel internally sigh. </p><p>Between their daily banter and arguments—don’t get him started on the whole ‘Driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole’ argument, though Castiel did discover he rather enjoyed Led Zeppelin but would take a knife to the leg before he admitted it to Dean—they did manage to get some fine police work done. Well, they did when Dean actually followed the plan instead of kicking the door in followed by trying to take on the biggest guy in the room. Or when Dean wasn’t trying to eat Castiel out of house and home. Seemed once he had earned Dean’s respect, Dean felt compelled to come over to his loft to do their brainstorming and follow-up work. </p><p>Castiel noticed over the months they’d been partners that Dean had all but officially moved into his spare bedroom, claiming his loft was the best space to do their research. According to Dean, Castiel’s spacious open floor allowed him to do his best clear thinking. So Castiel inevitably gained a house gremlin who ate all of his food, kept beer in his fridge, had to have coffee a specific way, and even had the audacity to stock his spare bedroom with <em>flannel.</em></p>
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</div><p>As much as finding dirty coffee mugs littered around his apartment—seriously he found coffee mugs everywhere, the kitchen, the coffee table, the bedroom, the shower, and one resting on the back of the toilet (Who felt the need to multitask that way?)—boiled his blood, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to stay mad. In some twisted way, Dean wasn’t only his partner but his friend. His years of military school gave him refined combat skills yet left him with very rusty people skills which never really allowed him the opportunity to make a real friend. Dean being his friend was the only way Castiel could justify to himself the hell he went through being Dean’s partner and the only way to justify why he allowed the freckled green-eyed Greek god to push the boundaries of his limits; yes all of his limits, including one Castiel would deny with every fiber of his being as to not make their partnership fragile: that he was wholeheartedly sexually attracted to the beautiful specimen that was Dean Winchester. But such feelings had no place in their work relationship or his line of work. </p><p>Partners, friends. That was the line Castiel drew in the sand. Which admittedly was the only hard-line he drew given how often he was swayed by Dean’s persuasion into doing things a little bit more recklessly and dangerously or a just a tad outside the rules. “Can’t color life inside the lines, Buddy”—Dean’s exact philosophy that had coaxed him into following Dean into an auto shop on a hot Thurs day morning. The shop was known to be run by one of Miami’s prominent mafia gangs and Dean thought ‘shaking a few trees’ might produce something solid. </p><p>Their leads on the supped-up ecstasy on the streets had run dry and Dean swore one of his favorite snitches could provide them with some kind of new information. </p><p>“So, who is this person we’re supposed to be seeing?” Castiel asked his partner as Dean pulled up to the front of the building. Dean had been pretty vague about the details of his informant. </p><p>Dean threw him an easy smile as if they shook down lower mafia members every day. “His name’s Garth, I busted him years ago when I was still working the streets peddling weed. He’s a good kid, fell in love with the wrong girl though.”</p><p>“Oh?” Color Castiel’s interest piqued. Climbing out of the Impala, he stared at Dean over the hood waiting for the rest of the story. It was rare enough for Dean to drive and even rarer for Dean to actually have a plan. </p><p>“His wife is the daughter of some prominent leader in the mob. He’s always wanted to be a good kid, so I let him go after I busted in exchange for information. If there’s anyone who can give us the low down or where to sniff next it’s him, he may not look like it but being the son-in-law allows him to have his ears in some pretty secretive places. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that Garth looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly, so they’re never worried about him spilling secrets,” Dean explained as they walked up the warehouse-type structure. </p><p>“And what happens if he doesn’t want to spill any secrets?”</p><p>“Come on Feathers.” Dean peered over his shoulder a devilish grin accompanying a glint of something mischievous in those forest eyes. “Who could say no to this face?”</p><p>With a hard-set glare, Castiel deadpanned, “No,” feeling the need to prove a point. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah you’re the exception,” Dean laughed, letting his slightly bowed legs carry the weight of oversized ego. </p><p>Rounding the corner of one of the open bays, the place was suspiciously empty for an auto body shop—no cars, no workers, just parts strung about here and there (probably a front if Castiel had to surmise). Following in step with his partner, they navigated their way through to the back where a short, gangly man was attempting to stack some tires. </p><p>“Hey there Buddy,” Dean called out, startling the worker. As the man turned around, Castiel noticed two things. Dean’s snitch had ears too big for his head and were hard not to stare at as his toothy smile engulfed his face from Dumbo ear to Dumbo ear. </p>
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</div><p>“Heya Dean!” Mr. Big Ears smiled, his entire being radiating sunshine like an eager puppy as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Need some work on that pretty Baby of yours?”</p><p>With two strides of his legs, Dean was crowding Garth up against the tire tower. “Nope, but I did hear word on the street up some fancy new X floating around.” Dean leaned closer as Garth leaned back further into the rubber tower. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would ya?” </p><p>Garth looked like he was trying to swallow a brick; hands coming up to his sides in an I come in peace manner, he said, “Dean, Dean…why would I know something like that? I’m just a mechanic fella.”</p><p>“Garth,” Dean said, his voice dipped with a Snow White poison apple sweetness, “we can do this easy way or we can do this the Winchester way.” </p><p>With the fakest smile Cas has ever seen, Dean gleamed at the poor “just a mechanic” as he nearly bent himself backward over the tire tower still trying to hold his ground. </p><p>“Guys, I can’t,” he said. “I don’t know anything…Dean…come on…wait…Dean—” </p><p>Swinging his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and manhandling him slightly, Dean started walking, Garth effectively his prisoner.</p><p>“You know what.” Dean squeezed his arm crushing Garth’s head. “On second thought I think Baby does need to be looked at, since you so kindly offered.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Castiel followed his partner and his prisoner through the shop and out towards Baby. Knowing Dean, wherever this was heading was going to be one of those gray areas of the rules Dean loved to take advantage of. Castiel sagged his shoulders. Whatever Dean was conjuring up in his head would spell trouble. </p><p>“You see, I’ve been having this issue in my trunk and I really think you need to take a look at it,” Dean commented, still holding Garth tight around the shoulder as they rounded the black beauty to her rear. </p><p>Castiel caught Garth casting glances between Dean and the empty trunk sporting the same puzzlement he was. Squinting against the light as he stepped closer to them, Castiel saw a wicked smile flash across Dean’s face. “See buddy, the problem I’m having is I just can’t figure how much I can fit back here. Don’t get me wrong Baby’s got back but…” The sarcasm and fake nice woven together from Dean’s tongue made Castiel cringe and then before Castiel could get a word in—</p><p>Dean shoved Garth in the trunk and slammed the hood. “Thanks for helping me out man!” Dean patted the hood, bouncing away from the shouts and bangs rattling the car. </p><p>“What?” God, Castiel wanted to punch Dean’s fake innocent face. Rather than answer he glared stepping in front of Dean’s direct path to the driver’s seat.</p><p>“Oh, don’t get your panties in a wad Feathers. I’m going to go around the parking lot.” </p><p>“Dean—” he growled, seconds away from snatching the keys out of Dean’s hands and freeing Baby’s newly acquired luggage. </p><p>“—Feathers, he wanted to do this the Winchester way. I promise once around the parking lot and he’ll crack.” Playing dirty, Dean bit his lip flashing his best glittery green puppy dog eyes. “We really need a new lead, I pinky promise once around the parking lot.” Dean held out his pinky, puppy dogs eyes still intact though they weren’t hiding the mischievousness in them. Only Dean could best him in a battle of resolve. </p><p>“Once,” he found himself agreeing, pointing a finger in Dean’s face, “then we free the man you basically kidnapped.” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, you got it Sunshine.” Dean batted his eyes in victory, his bright lightbulb smile enough to blind Castiel to the screams and thumps from the trunk. Sighing with defeat, Castiel walked around the front of the car to slide into the passenger seat—the shit Dean managed to talk him into. </p><p>Dean cranked the dial on the stereo up letting Led Zeppelin in the cabin, silencing any other noise besides the thrum of the ’80s. Baby rumbled to life with a turn of key and Dean threw her in reverse humming in time with the song. Castiel shook his head. They were going to lose their badges for Dean’s little adventure. </p><p>Expressing his inner thoughts, Castiel asked, “How are you even going to scare him while he’s in the trunk Dean? You drive this thing sloth slow; correction, molasses-slow I believe is the right phrase.”</p><p>With a laugh, Dean put the car in drive, “Ever heard of a brake-check Feathers?” When Castiel tilted his head, Dean laughed even harder recognizing the gesture as a sign of <em>What the hell are you talking about?</em> Why on Earth would Dean need his brakes checked while they had a civilian stuffed in their trunk—had Dean finally lost his mind and snapped?</p><p>“Brace yourself.” Dean smiled, giving Baby a bit of gas before stomping on the brake pedal lurching the car to a screeching stop. Ah—brake check, made sense now as Castiel barely had time to catch himself by the time Dean was alternating between the gas and brakes again. </p><p>Over the music the only other sounds were the unmistakable thumping in the trunk which sounded more like a sack of potatoes being rolled around with every gas and brake duo, Castiel’s muttered curses underneath his breath, and Dean’s breathy laughs enjoying this whole situation more than he should. As promised, they went around the parking lot only once, and no Castiel could not count the number of times Dean ‘brake-checked’ the car, but he was going to need some Tylenol stat or he’d be partner-less really quick—murder or strangulation being his top two options of partner removal. After Dean parked the car again, Castiel had the strong urge to kiss the solid ground for he still felt as if the world was still violently rocking him back and forth. </p><p>Castiel responded to Dean’s “I bet he’s ready to talk now,” with a <em> green around the gills</em> grunt and threw open the passenger door, planting his feet on the non-moving pavement. And Dean complained about<em> his</em> driving. </p><p>Rediscovering the strength in his legs, Castiel trotted towards the rear of the car. He didn’t register the silence until the noise of the trunk popping open captured his attention. Inching closer to inspect inside the trunk, he worried they killed the poor mechanic. Garth startled him, as he sprang from the trunk clutching the front of Dean’s shirt; face red and splotchy and shaking like an autumn leaf. </p><p>“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!” Garth cried. “Just please don’t put me back in there, please!”</p><p>Dean threw a smile over his shoulder at him before turning his attention back to their cargo; helping Garth out of the trunk was like a baby deer trying to stand on its own legs for the first time. </p><p>Obnoxious as the whole situation was, Garth did know about heavy drug activity happening in a house right off the highway; also claiming he wasn’t sure what kind of activity, but it was heavily guarded and top secret. After collecting all the information they deemed relevant, they headed back to the station to beg the Captain for a warrant and formulate a plan of attack. </p><p>Dreading climbing back into the black beauty with Dean behind the wheel, Castiel said, “Next time, I’m driving!” with no room for argument. </p><p>And of course, like anything involving Dean Winchester, those words would come back to haunt him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for sticking around! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and look forward to your thoughts! Please know Dean meant no harm to Garth, only meant to shake him up a bit. This was supposed to be a funny spin-off canon. Comments are always welcome.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Feathers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">Chapter 2: Feathers</div>
</h3><p>Despite their less than stellar start, Dean found he worked really well, hell he enjoyed working with Cas. Yes, after all the <em> I’m the baddest guy in the room</em> posturing bullshit Dean preferred the shortened version of Castiel’s name rather than the stupid spur of the moment nickname Dean had given him, although feathers stuck like glue which in turn meant so did freckles; and his partner’s fucking attitude. </p><p>“To paraphrase a friend, why don’t you take out the entire oak tree shoved up your ass and shoot something sometime this century!” his partner growled, throwing an impressive medusa stare at him. </p><p>“Don't quote me to me.” Dean slid another mag into his prized 1911. Sure, carrying an ivory grip, embellished silver hand cannon was a touch shy of impractical for a police officer given the new standard-issue P365 mag held 15-rounds but the gun like Dean was a legacy so screw practicality. </p><p>“Oh, what would you rather me say during our run-of-the-mill car chase? Huh?” Cas said, tone nothing short downright irritable. </p><p>Pulling on the slide to chamber a round while eyes rolling his partner’s sass, Dean retorted, “Get your panties out your ass Feathers,” as he hung his body out the passenger window return firing at the fucking car transporting tractor-trailer. </p><p>Because of course, they couldn’t be chasing a Dodger Charger filled with drug perps, you know like a normal drug bust, no they were trying to get a fucking semi loaded down with various vehicles and a dozen armed, very angry Cubans off the road. </p><p>Bullets tinked against the metal of the carrier. For every bullet shot at the perps, a spray of metal rained down back on them. Pulling himself back into the cabin of the murdered-out Porsche 911, which Dean could appreciate for he had his own sleek black beauty, to drop his now empty mag and reload, Dean noticed movement on the trailer. What in the hell were those crazy-ass Cubans up to now? </p><p>“Oh, fuck me,” Dean muttered, watching the assholes unhook the straps securing the vehicles in place. </p><p>“Car… car…CAR!!!” The ‘guy walking into a girl’s locker room’ scream Dean let out was more than justified given they were now swerving back and forth, dodging tumbling cars. Dean watched in fascinating horror as the combination of plastic and metal crumpled like paper on impact against the pavement. Dean’s day had really gone from simple drug bust to damn life and death car dodgeball.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>


  </p>
</div><p>“I have eyes!” his partner said, exasperated. “Shut the hell up, so I can dodge these assbutts!” After becoming Dean’s partner, Cas became a parroting toddler testing and playing with numerous combinations of explicit words he picked up from his partner…some better than others.</p><p>“Dude, it’s not my fault we're in some kind of fucked up Frogger meets Donkey-Kong situation!”</p><p>Cas threw him a menacing side-eye, jolting the steering wheel to the left and throwing Dean into the passenger door. Dean cursed under his breath, berating himself for thinking seatbelts were for pussies. Watching the last available car on the trailer thrash and hurdled its way towards them, a string of explicit curse words passed between the partners.  </p><p>Dean thanked his lucky stars as his partner maneuvered the Porsche like a professional rally car driver, not afraid of shredding a little tread on the tires, successfully missing the crushed-up metal mess. By the sounds of the numerous tire screeches and e-brake pulls, Cas was going to need to throw another set of tires on this girl after this ridiculous high-speed chase. </p><p>“Come on Feathers, my brother drives his Prius better than you,” Dean goaded, knowing damn well his partner was the best defensive, hell even offensive, driver he’d ever had the pleasure of sitting shotgun with.  </p><p>“I’d pull over and let you drive, but you drive slower than a grandma taking a Sunday stroll.”</p><p>“Only because I drive a classic! Baby is a ’67, she deserves to be driven with respect, you modern Italian-loving, speed seeking heathen.” Dean caught Cas rolling his eyes for the nth time, mouthing along to the next words he’s heard spoken hundred times from Dean’s mouth. “I built Baby with my own two hands, and my daddy didn’t leave me with no trust fund Feathers. I’m not in this for thrills.” </p><p>“We’re in this because Guns Blazing Winchester can’t follow a damn plan,” Cas said, stomping the gas and rocketing the 911 towards the fleeing criminals. </p><p>“Don’t put the blame on me Mr. I need to <em>always</em> take on the biggest guy in the room.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t have to always save your ass if you didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”</p><p>“Nope, that’s not true,” Dean said with a smirk, rechambering his pistol, “I said Miami PD first, then shot my way through the meth house. You’re the one who was too busy to notice the slime bucket slither out with half his goons and hop onto that monstrosity we are now chasing.” </p><p>“Are you going to shoot them or am I going to have to do everything myself?” Cas deadpanned, straightening his back and tightening his already white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.  </p><p>“Hold onto your dick, Feathers,” Dean said, flashing Cas his infamous <em>I’m about to do something incredibly stupid</em> wink. Dean clambered out the window cursing Italian carmakers for making their windows so unfunctional as he situated himself on the window seal. Cas would probably murder him for putting his boots on the cream-colored leather, but a little dirt was nothing in comparison to the cheese-grater bumper the poor girl was sporting by now. </p><p>“Keep her steady, buddy,” Dean hollered, locking his legs against the seat and lining up his sights with the car transporter’s back tires. The first shot missed, hitting one of the miscellaneous Cubans in the leg. The second shot hit its mark followed by the third hitting the passenger side trailer tire. </p><p>The Porsche tested its red racing brake calipers as Cas hammered the brakes while latching himself onto Dean’s leg to yank him back inside the car. With two blown tires the trailer swung wildly from side to side for a few moments before the whole back end turned sideways and caught air. </p><p>The sight deserved an Oscar for the best non-CGI stunt scene. A dramatic low whistle escaped Dean’s lips as the truck flipped sideways four times before landing on its side and sliding an additional fifteen feet with metal dragging along the pavement like nails on a chalkboard. </p><p>“Nice shot Freckles,” Cas spoke, a little breathless, the ghost of a smile haunting his pink, slightly chapped lips. Freckles. Damn fucking nickname, Dean thought trying to catch his breath while his adrenaline began fading. Shaking his head at his partner’s cheekiness, Dean only had himself and his big egotistical mouth to blame for their stupid nickname game. </p><p>Cas slowed the Porsche to crawl, easing the car to the carnage. Surveying the damage, a singular thought popped into Dean’s mind, “Fuck, Bobby’s going to skin us alive.”</p>
<hr class="hr"/>
<p></p><div class="center"></div>“What if we called ourselves TNT because...” Dean paused his sentence and his backward walking up the precinct stairs for dramatic effect, talking animatedly with his hands, “...we’re BOOM! Dynamite!” Dean smiled, “Huh? Pretty good?”<p>“No,” Cas fucking cold-shouldered him, sighing at Dean’s great use of the acronym that matched the shortened version of the Tactical Narcotics Team. </p><p>“Oh come on man, it’s pretty clever.”</p><p>Castiel just hummed, seemingly not bemused by Dean. Whatever he was still going to call them Dynamite in his head and there was nothing Mr. Fucking Grumpy Gills could do to stop him. </p><p>Walking into the station, both men felt pretty good about the bust. Some of the crushed up cars had been loaded down with stolen currency found in the door panels, and they had a few viable options for interrogation after the majority of them were discharged from the hospital or woke up from their comas. Well, Dean had felt good up until he caught sight of Bobby; perhaps joking about explosives was a bad idea. </p><p>Because like a man shot out of a canon, the Captain blasted out of his office, stalking toward the pair. </p><p>“You two halves of a whole idiot.” He pointed. “My office. NOW!” </p><p>Dean felt a pang of guilt; one of these days he was going to be the reason Bobby had a pulmonary. </p><p>Bobby clicked on the television set up in the corner of the office after everyone seemed situated. “What part of subtle do you two not seem to understand?” </p><p>Video clips of their high-speed Donkey-Kong styled chase flashed on the screen. Honestly, the videographer needed a raise because the splices of clips mended together were fantastic. Dean hated to admit it, but the video made the whole chase look as if it was cut from a Michael Bay movie; nothing but big explosions and gunfire. </p><p>“The city general is so far up my ass about this, that if he spits it’s coming out my mouth,” the Captain said, clicking off the television and refocusing his anger at the dumbasses in front of him. “What the hell happened to the plan? Huh?”</p><p>Both men scrambled to answer, stumbling over one another: “We can explain—” Cas started. </p><p>Dean, hot on Cas’ heels, cut in, “Bobby, it’s really not as bad as you think—” Dean held up his hand. </p><p>"Sir, we did follow the plan—”</p><p>"How the hell were we supposed to know they were going throw fucking cars at us?” </p><p>"Speaking of cars, can we talk reimbursement for the damages?”</p><p>“Will you two shut the hell up!” The small vein on the Captain’s forehead began to throb. “First off Novak, we don’t cover personal property. That’s why we drive police cars.”</p><p>Dean instantly felt Cas’ hot stare on him. “Huh, that's why we drive police cars, Freckles.”</p><p>“Look Feathers, I won’t be caught dead in one of those ugly sedans and we both know Baby is reserved for stake-outs.” In his peripheral’s Dean could tell Cas was stoically sulking, muttering about calling the insurance company…again. </p><p>“Focus!” Bobby cut in. “Please tell me all this carnage resulted in <em>something</em> I can tell the assholes at the City.”</p><p>“The cars were loaded down with freshly printed unsynchronized bills—” Dean said, snapping his attention from his partner to the Captain.</p><p>“We didn’t recover any drugs though—” Cas said, forever the pessimistic boy scout. </p><p> Rolling his eyes at his partner’s negative nancy attitude, Dean cut off Cas’ bullshit with, “They were cooking <em>something</em>.” followed by, “forensics is going to keep us informed from what they found at the house—”</p><p>“Be more evidence if you hadn't marched in guns blazing,” Cas huffed. Oh so, this is how it was going to go—full-on argument, huh? </p><p>Trying to be the bigger person Dean was going to let the snide comment slide; given, he’d be pretty pissed if his car looked like a chunk of swiss cheese but, “For last time, they shot at me first totally self-defense—” </p><p>“You kicked in the front door!”</p><p>“Enough!” the Captain sighed, letting his head fall into his hands. “Jesus, you two fight like an old bitter married couple.” He let out another deep-rooted sigh before continuing, “The money is a good start, I’ll handle the city. Tomorrow do some interrogations at the hospital if you can and get the fuck out of my office and get some gosh dang sleep. You two look like hell.”</p><p>“Bobby,” Dean began, as Cas protested, “Sir—” </p><p>“You heard me, get!” Bobby said, cutting them off as he motioned for them to get the hell out of his office. </p><p>This bust was their first major break in a month and while it wasn’t the drugs they were hoping to discover, they did find the money. And the first thing you learn while hunting Miami’s underground biggest and baddest: follow the money. Neither one wanted to sleep on this lead, but a fresh mind and eyes probably wasn’t a terrible idea.</p>
<hr class="hr"/>
<p></p><div class="center"></div>With the window rolled down, Dean let the warm Miami night air wash over him. He breathed deep, hoping the fresh air would clear his mind; the events of the bust left more questions than answers. Forensics ended up finding bupkis, so they either interrupted the party before it started or were too late and interrupted their clean-up job. Was the money paying for operations in advance or paying for completed products? Why pack it into used cars and then transport it? With as much as they confiscated the back-roller or silent investor had <em>deep pockets</em>. But how deep though?<p>More questions circled around in his head, he pulled Baby into the parking garage dedicated to the apartment complex at Cas’ loft. Knowing Cas, even this late into the evening he was probably doing the exact same thing Dean was doing—reviewing the case files and lining up questions for the Cuban dicks they were going to have to interrogate. Dude seemed to operate on less sleep than Dean’s typical four hours. </p><p>Dean waved at the doorman as he entered the lobby, heading for the elevator. He didn’t bother checking in since the doorman knew Dean by name given he spent more time at Cas’ apartment than his own these days. The elevator doors slid open and Dean pressed the button for the top floor before leaning against the back railing. </p><p>Stepping into the hallway the moment the doors opened, Dean only had to knock twice before Cas flung the door open and shoved a mug of coffee in Dean’s hands. The loft reflected its owner: open floor plan, modern sleek styling, overall stiff yet somehow inviting. Dean followed Cas into the living room noticing his hunch was indeed correct; files were spread all over the classy glass coffee table and from the state of Cas’ tousled locks the guy had been scratching his head over the same questions Dean had. </p><p>The coffee tasted perfect, a splash of milk with a touch of sugar just the way Dean liked it. Dean sipped it, staring at Cas as he settled back onto the couch over the rim of the coffee cup. Half the reason Cas’ apartment became their mini headquarters is because of the space and privacy it offered—Dean still shared a small apartment with his brother, but since Sam became the new Assistant District Attorney the apartment sharing was subject to change. he other reason was because here, Dean was allowed a peek at the real Castiel underneath; at the dorky little guy hidden under that ugly ass trench coat and years of military training. For such a badass, the guy had a hilarious taste in pajamas, wearing cartoon bee drawstring pajama pants and a bright ass yellow tank top with the same cartoon bee as the pants without shame. </p><p>Sipping a tad more, Dean followed Cas’ lead, settling into the couch before wading through the pile of rap sheets on the men they had arrested today. </p><p>After a few hours of reading, they had no more answers than when they started. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back his head against the back of the couch. He felt as if his body was crafted from marble—hard, stiff, and unmovable—with the adrenaline and caffeine long gone.</p><p>Closing his eyes, he fought to stifle a yawn. The last thing Dean wanted was sleep even after Cas covered his barely awake ass in a warm blanket, they had work to do after all. </p><p>Pulling the blanket up to his chin, he thought that maybe it could wait just a little while.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh, things are starting to heat up! You've already made this far I hope you keep going! Comments are always welcome, let me know your favorite Dean sentence. I'm a sucker for writing Dean POV.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Witness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter Warning: Minor Character Death</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">Chapter 3: The Witness</div>
</h3><p>
  <span>The whirs of the servers provided the perfect accompaniment to the clack of keys from Charlie’s keyboard. The sounds were a symphony to her ears as she cracked her knuckles to limber up her fingers. After sliding on her headphones to drown outside distractions, Charlie pulled up the program she had been coding and debugging, tucking a stray red lock of hair behind her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the first chord of the song played through her headphones, her fingers began their dance. With the keyboard as her stage, the digits fox-trotted, waltzed and balloted all over the keys. Strings of code filled the screen as if every string filled in seats to witness the ongoing performance. Like any good performer, Charlie lost herself to the rhythm of her work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roman Enterprises wasn’t her ideal job given Charlie Bradbury prided herself on being a hacktivist and sleazy corporations were always enemy number one but hey a girl’s gotta eat and Roman Enterprises paid </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> well. The dance slowed to contemporary movements as she double-checked her work. Fingers moved languidly, each press of key contemplative and thoughtful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the last bit of code entered, the curtain pulled closed on her keyboard ballet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stretching her arms above her head, Charlie smiled, knowing now her weekend was completely free to entertain her wonderful subjects; the great people of Moondoor needed their Queen. Seriously the whole local LARPing community tended to get a bit chaotic without her guidance; a six-person slappy fist fest happened the last time she had to miss due to mandatory overtime. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Men</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, giggling at the memory. Halleluiah for being a lesbian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All belongings packed and her computer turned off, Charlie practically bounced towards the exit; towards sweet weekend freedom. Only a solid colliding mass rudely snatched her freedom away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kevin?” she squeaked, as both bodies scrambled to pick themselves up from the floor. Kevin Tran defined the words advanced placement: graduated high school at the age of sixteen, attended MIT, then landed a job at Roman Enterprises where he single-handedly rebuilt the operating software and network all before he could legally drink a beer. Everyone in the IT department called him the Java/C++ prophet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie swooped in like a mother hen shortly after Kevin started, befriending the twenty-year-old nerd rather than the coding genius. She took him under her wing and showed him a life outside the 1’s and 0’s, even dragging him to a few Moondoor events; he made a great handmaiden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he shouldn’t be here tonight; even the mighty prophet enjoyed weekends. Fridays had everyone scampering like cockroaches the minute the clock struck five. Technically, Charlie shouldn’t even be here, Roman Enterprises had strict policies about staying in the office after a certain hour. But, knowing they’d call her in to the debugging tomorrow if she hadn’t stayed to finish tonight, she bent the rules all in the name of saving her great people. Kevin, though, </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>broke or even bent the rules so why was he here? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking in Kevin’s frantic and disheveled appearance left Charlie with even more questions. And while men were naturally sweaty creatures, the amount rolling down Kevin’s face seemed excessive. And were his eyes shifting from her to the exit door every few seconds expectantly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kevin,” she said firmly, grabbing his wrist in a light touch to garner his full attention, “Kevin, hey what’s going on? </span>
  
  <span>Why are you sweating like a trussed-up rebel on the spit for a deity feast on Endor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one last glance between the door and her, Charlie noticed some type of resolve harden into the young man’s eyes. A crashing noise coming from the hallway had both of them flinching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie,” Kevin pleaded, desperate panic bled into his features. Another crash. Heavy footsteps. “I need you to listen to me very closely. We don't have much time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie nodded, words too hard to articulate with her heart hammering against her ribcage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching into his front, he took Charlie’s hand and placed a business card, a flash drive, and his ID badge into her palm then closed her fingers around the treasures. Kevin rolled his shoulders as to steady himself while Charlie openly gaped at him while searching his face for any clue on what the hell was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take the back stairs up to the third floor, swipe my ID badge to access the emergency elevator that leads to manager’s parking garage, take the stairs down to the back alley and toss your cell phone and any other device with GPS—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shouts momentarily interrupted Kevin’s instructions. They both glanced towards the voices, then back at each other. Worry threaded itself in with Charlie’s growing anxiety. When the shouts were clearly becoming closer, Kevin’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he sped up his pace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—when you think you are a good distance from here and are sure no one is following you call the number on the business card. I trust Sam Winchester with my life as well as his brother Dean. Dean is with Miami PD, call him first. He’ll keep you safe then call Sam he’ll explain everything—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“WHAT? Kevin, you’re scaring me, just come with me. I don’t understand—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“CHARLIE,” he hissed with wide, watery eyes while squeezing her hands, “Whatever you do, do not let this fall into the wrong hands, protect this flash drive with your life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of shattering glass accompanied the echoing of a gunshot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“GO!” Kevin shouted, both of them instinctively squatting on the floor, “go now! Please, Charlie, you’re my only hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would have smiled at the reference, but the ringing of bullets had her army-crawling towards the back stairs while stuffing the items forcibly shoved into her palm into her backpack. If she survived this, definitely no more first-person shooter games. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voices. She could make out at least two separate harsh voices, but they were speaking in a language Charlie couldn’t understand—German, Russian maybe? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rounding the corner of the last cubicle, Charlie pressed herself flat against the cubicle, straining to listen as Kevin’s distinct tone entered the mix. Discovering Kevin knew a different language happened to be the least crazy surprise in the last five minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She peeked around the corner to find Kevin with his hands up staring down two thugs aiming 9mm directly at his heart. He looked so determined, perhaps even a bit taunting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more words were exchanged, though these were discernible. “What are you? Fresh from Stormer training camp,” Charlie heard Kevin sass while pointing to one of the goons with Parkinson-like tremors, “you Trooper newbs couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn. Pro-tip you hired dumbasses: unless you’re a champ at dodging rando recoil rounds, don’t shoot a gun packing more heat than you can handle.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man closest to her scowled at Kevin’s retort uttering again in that foreign language choking up on his trigger until </span>
  <em>
    <span>click.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The flash lasted a mere fraction of a second barely visible, nothing like the game makers often portrayed a gun being fired. In the same second, Kevin’s body crumpled to the floor as if his body was nothing more than a mere thrown away rag doll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaky hands muffled her quiet scream. Although not muffled enough, both killers turned their heads in Charlie’s direction. Fight or flight senses kicked in as she quickly pressed herself against the cubicle. Blinking hard to clear her blurred vision, Charlie knew that she needed to leave and leave</span>
  <em>
    <span> now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She counted to three and when she didn’t hear approaching footsteps she bolted. Taking the stairs two at a time, her legs burned but she climbed like Scarlett Johansson was waiting on the third floor for her. The unmistakable squeaky hinge sound of the door opening came from below. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they were onto her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scrambled to swing open the door to the third floor. Sprinting down the hallway, she peeked over her shoulder only once before swiping Kevin’s badge at the scanner for the manager’s elevator. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, come on, come on…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator doors dinged open as shouts filled the hallway. Ducking into the elevator and rapidly pressing the basement button a thousand times as rounds tinked the heavy metal, “Please, please, please,” she chanted, watching the men sprint towards her through the crack of the closing elevator doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only once she felt the drop of movement downwards did she allow herself to catch a few deep breaths, sucking in air harder than Dyson vacuum. The brief reprieve was short-lived for the moment the doors opened Charlie pounced on the concrete; pushing her tired legs past their breaking point. Jesus, she definitely had a new growing appreciation for athletes. Thankfully, the stairs down that fed into the back alley were much easier to tackle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as she hit the sidewalk, Charlie slowed her steps to blend into the crowd tossing her cellphone in the first trash can along her way. She zig-zagged streets. Taking three left turns, two back alleys and three rights before she was certain, absolutely certain she wasn’t being followed; followed by the men who just killed Kevin; sweet, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t hurt a single fly</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kevin in cold blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as she wanted to go home and erase this whole evening from her memory, Charlie couldn’t risk going home. She wandered into an open diner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waitress took one good look at her and asked, “Honey are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I—” Telling the nice waitress meant putting her in danger. “Can I borrow your phone? I just got in a huge fight with my asshole ex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh sweetie, of course!” The waitress, Gilda her name tag read, gently took her arm and led her to a back-corner booth. Gilda left momentarily before returning with a cup of coffee and the diner's handheld phone. “Coffee is on the house if you need anything just wave at me okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any other time, Charlie would be charming the skirts off the gorgeous Gilda, but she shoved flirting to the back burner. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what it’s worth, you're too pretty to be crying over an ex,” Gilda said with such sincerity that Charlie swore the moment she was out of danger she was coming back here and demanding her number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a wink and a smile, Gilda sauntered off to help the next customer. Charlie couldn’t help but watch her go, debating with her lower brain what really was important at the moment. Damn, she was really losing it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Shaking her head, she fumbled with the phone, typing in the one number you learn as soon as you learn to use a phone: 9-1-1. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“911, what’s your emergency?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, yes. I need to speak with officer Dean Winchester please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am is this an emergency? If not, please hang up and call our non-emergency line.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me, I need to speak with officer Dean Winchester, and I need to speak with him now! He is the only one I’ll speak with about the murder I just witnessed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold please.” The line clicked over to some instrumental music. A full minute on being on hold passed and Charlie was three seconds from hanging up when the dispatcher came back, “Ma’am officer Winchester is not at headquarters, his supervisor is notifying him with your wish to speak to him now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay,” she sighed, “Send him to me. I’m sure you’re already tracing this call. If anyone besides Officer Winchester shows up you’ll know where this all started and I’ll be in the wind.” Charlie smashed the end button, hoping her attempt at a threat hit home. She combed her fingers through her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Today went to hell in a handbasket, Charlie thought. Her trembling hands reached out and curled her fingers around the diner mug, allowing the warmth to seep in and provide a small grounding comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sipping it, Charlie had no idea how to tell Dean from any other police officer, but Kevin gave his life for whatever was on the flash drive and like hell she’d hand it over to anyone besides Sam or Dean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flash drive! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had shoved the thing in her backpack and all but forgotten it while fleeing for her life. Finally remembering the stupid thing, she fished around the bottom of her backpack, mentally fist-pumping the air when she found it and the business card Kevin had also given her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bright, young life ended over a tiny stick of data. She twirled it between her fingers, sensing bile climb up her throat. She transferred her attention to the business card, unable to look at the death-eater stick any longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sam Winchester. Assistant District Attorney. </span>
  </em>
  <span> And in the white space, Kevin scribbled just one word: Poughkeepsie.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WanderingCas did utter magic with this chapter to make it exciting. I am sorry for killing Kevin. Please don't hate me. I love you guys &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Best Laid Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">Chapter 4: The Best Laid Plans</div>
</h3><p>The heavy notes of Kashmir slowly brought Dean out of his sleeping state. Groaning, he fumbled around the couch for his phone eyes half-closed, brain half-awake. Why the hell was Bobby calling after sending them home?</p><p>“Bobby?” Dean answered, knuckle-rubbing at his eyes. </p><p>“Boy get your ass down to the location I’m texting to you right now.”</p><p>“Wha—”</p><p>“You heard me. Get moving and I know you’re at Cas’ so take your damn partner with you. Some girl says she witnessed a murder and asked for you specifically,”</p><p>“For me?”</p><p>“Yeah knuckle-head, said she’d only talk to you or she’s in the wind so get your asses in gear.” Dean pulled the phone from his ear after the line clicked off.  Reading the location of the witness, Dean pursed his lips; he didn’t know enough people to have someone ask for him personally. And it’s not like he had the time to cruise Miami’s most eligible not since Bobby assigned him to the narcotics team, hell with him and Cas burning the candle at both ends the only date he had time for was with his trusty lefty.</p><p>Fuck. Dean stretched and his knees gave protest as he stood up. Ugh, he probably didn’t have time for a shower although he needed one bad the way his t-shirt and jeans were hugging his skin; damn Miami night air, hot and sticky no matter the time of day. </p><p>He shuffled down the hallway to Cas’ bedroom to wake sleeping beauty. </p><p>When Cas didn’t even budge after Dean flicked the light on, an evil thought trickled into his mind. One’s gotta make time for the simple pleasures in life, right? </p><p>“Wakey, wakey eggs n bakey,” Dean teased, throwing a full glass of ice-cold water onto Cas from a very <em>safe</em> distance. Oh, Dean knew Cas was going to rain down his smitey righteous justice on him later but getting to see the look of sheer shock on his face, totally worth it. Setting the glass down on the dresser next to him, Dean watched the magic unfold. </p><p>Cas bolted upright while slapping at his face trying to wipe the water off. “<em>Freckles</em>,” he growled, eyes still sleep ridden, “what the—”</p><p>“Sorry Feathers,” Dean said, trying but failing to hide the sinister, satisfied smile on his face, “No time to be mad, Captain called we’ve got ourselves a witness to pick up.” </p><p>Cas tilted his head in that stupid adorable way he always did. After six months Dean figured the gesture would lose its appeal but nope still just as cute as the first time he had seen it. Cas furrowed his brow trying to piece together why the hell he was being woken up with a splash of water to the face, “A witness?” he asked suspiciously, “A witness to what exactly?” </p><p>Dean shrugged and offered the only answer he himself had been given, “Murder apparently,” </p><p>“Murder? Why isn’t homicide being called in on this?” Cas said, tossing aside his bedsheets and revealing a very nice, very tight pair of orange boxers. </p><p>“Um—“Dean sputtered, coming up short; his brain short-circuited. Cas sleeps in his boxers, in his very tight, very orange boxers. Information Dean didn’t need but now was seared into his memory. Along with the following information he didn’t need but now knew: Cas appeared to be waxed like totally hairless but his arms, his thick thighs could definitely crush a watermelon between them, and the outline of his dick—not that Dean meant to look but <em><strong>damn</strong></em>—was very impressive.</p><p>“Freckles?” Cas asked, curiosity evident in his tone as he slipped into his slacks. </p><p>“Right, yeah, sorry,” Dean shook his head, the nickname grounding him back in reality.  Gathering all his traitorous thoughts into one pile and stuffing into the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, he said, “The witness asked for me personally, I guess.” He ran a hand through his hair, vowing to himself not to ogle his partner anymore. </p><p>“Really?” </p><p>“No Feathers, I just like making sure we only get three hours of sleep because I’m an asshole,” Dean sassed, falling back into normal banter where Dean wasn’t just checking out his very male partner’s junk. </p><p>“Well…” Cas trailed, tossing Dean a rare smirk as he finished buttoning up his shirt. Dean very dramatically rolled his eyes, even late at night, Cas felt the need to wear his stupid suit attire. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah I’m an asshole. Are you ready, princess?” </p><p>“You drive,” Cas pointed, dismissing Dean as he pushed his damp strands off of his forehead while exiting the bedroom. </p><p>“Fine!” Dean called out, chasing after his partner’s retreating back. </p><p>The drive only took fifteen minutes. Fifteen agonizing minutes of Dean once again reminding Cas that driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole while cranking up <em>Paradise City</em>. What kind of monster complained about Guns N’ Roses? If Dean could suffer through whatever weird techno music, EDM he thought Cas called it once, Cas insisted on playing when he drove then he could suffer listening to actual good music. </p><p>Dean navigated Baby to a parking spot just outside the diner location Bobby had sent and killed the engine while still heatedly explaining to his partner why Robert Plant was a lyrical genius. </p><p>The conversation carried on until they stepped in the diner. It was better to appear more natural as to not spook the witness, so he kept talking to make it seem they were just two dudes getting a late-night bite to eat. Dean casually scanned the diner occupants. He didn’t need to be a police officer to know the redhead bouncing her leg and clutching her backpack tightly to her chest was more than likely their witness. Making eye contact with his partner, Dean titled his head in the direction of the back corner booth. Cas nodded and followed Dean’s lead as he walked towards the young woman.</p><p>Stopping at the edge of the booth, Dean plastered on his most charming, panty-dropping smile. “Hey.” Smooth Winchester, real smooth. Red turned her head, squinting her eyes with obvious suspicion at the two men intruding on her space. </p><p>You couldn’t have paid Dean to bet on the single word that came out of the redhead’s mouth: “Poughkeepsie.” </p><p>“How the hell do you know that word?” Dean all but growled. He could feel Cas throwing him a quizzical look but the only, and he means the only soul that should ever know that word is his brother. Fuck. Did she witness Sam get murdered? Is this why she asked for him personally?</p><p>Vertigo hit him like a Mack truck. He placed his hands on the table to try and steady himself, concern radiating palpably from his partner. His tongue weighed as much as a lead paperweight as he tried to form the words to the question, he really couldn’t bear the answer to: “Is—is, fuck, is my brother dead?”</p><p>“Is your brother Sam?” Red asked, her face soft and open. Dean nodded, his world spinning like a bad carnival tilt-a-whirl. A special type of sadness shined in her eyes as she placed a gentle hand on top of Dean’s. “Your brother isn’t dead, but my friend is. He risked his life to save me and—” She paused, reaching down to her side for a moment before holding up a thumb drive. “And for this, Kevin told me Sam could explain everything and that since you're with Miami PD you’d protect me or at least whatever is on this that was apparently worth killing for,” she finished, staring at the stick with soul-grieving longing. A longing Dean understood all too well. It’s the same lost look Bobby displays whenever he stares at the old picture of him and Dean’s dad back when they graduated the academy together. </p><p>Grief faded to relief which gave way to boiling anger. Just what in the hell was Sammy wrapped up in? Dean needed answers and needed them fucking yesterday. Lucky for Dean he knew exactly where his little brother laid his head at night. </p><p>“Okay Red, let’s go.” Both the redhead and his partner eyed Dean wearily. He wasn’t going to get any answers standing around this damn diner with their thumbs up their asses. “You said Sammy has answers; well, we are going to go get some damn answers.” </p><p>“It’s Charlie,” Red said, packing up her backpack.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie,” his partner finally chimed in. “I’m Castiel, and despite his lack of obvious manners, Dean and I do intend on making your safety our top priority.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Now that we are all best friends, let’s get this show on the road,“ Dean said, stepping back so Charlie could slide herself out of the booth. Throwing on her backpack as soon as she was standing, Charlie fished out a couple of crumpled bills from her front pocket throwing them on the table.  </p><p>Bouncing on her toes, Charlie looked ready to follow except as they started to leave. “Wait,” she said, grabbing the napkin that once held the silverware and scribbled something. “Okay, now we can go,” a somewhat shy smile graced the redhead’s face as she turned back to them. </p><p>Cas tilted his head and looked at Dean and Dean shrugged in response; who knew what that was about. Dean led the other two out of the diner and to Baby like a mommy duck with her babies. Being a gentleman, Cas offered Charlie the front seat, even holding the door open for her. Charlie seemed fidgety but given what the girl had been through in the past 24 hours, it was understandable. Hell, everyone in the car was having a crazy past 24 hours, maybe the world was delving into chaos after all. </p><p>Dean pulled Baby from the curb once all passengers were settled, letting the stereo do all the talking. The same old buildings and houses passed as Dean navigated the same streets he had been living on for years. Even though Dean had rarely been to his apartment in the past few months, he still paid for Baby to have her own parking spot. After cutting her engine, a rush of compiled nerves left Dean jittery.</p><p>His anxiety mental list started growing by the millisecond as they entered his apartment complex: when was the last time he cleaned his apartment? What if Sam wasn’t home? Shit, what if Cas judged him for his dingy apartment, that would add another chip to his partner’s shoulder. </p><p>Fiddling with his keys, Dean took a small <em>here we go</em> breath then shoved his key into the lock and opened the door ushering duck one and two into Casa de Winchester. Flicking on the light, Dean exhaled in relief at the sight of a relatively clean apartment—thank fuck for an OCD, clean-freak little brother. </p><p>Letting his guests—if you wanted to call a murder witness and his dorky partner guests—wander his living room, Dean hurled himself into the hallway hellbent on speaking with his brother. </p><p>Waking Sam up turned into a bigger fiasco than when Dean threw water on Cas earlier. Dean flicked the light, getting not only an eyeful but an earful. A high-pitched shriek replaced the subtle moans Dean missed completely; his head too invested in everything else to notice. The woman bouncing on his brother’s dick grabbed a fistful of bedsheets trying to cover up hurling what the fucks while simultaneously his brother started screaming, “Dean, what the hell!”—“Dude, seriously get the fuck out!” </p><p>“NO!” Dean pulled out his big brother voice, yelling over the top of both of them. Pointing at the busty woman on any other day Dean would be giving his brother a high-five for banging, he said, “You, get out. I’d say he’ll call you, but he won’t.” </p><p>“Excuse me,” the nameless and unimportant woman occupying his brother’s bed scoffed, turning her nose up while pulling the bedsheets up higher. Dean rolled his eyes at her antics, he already saw the goods and trust him they were nice but the last thing on his mind was a piece of ass, especially one that had just been riding his brother—ew. Dean made a mental note to bleach his eyes later. </p><p>“You heard me. Get out and don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out sweetheart.” Dean smiled tightly, fully prepared to wrap this woman in the bedsheet like a human burrito, and deposit her ass in the hallway. Finally understanding that Dean wasn’t leaving, she threw eye-daggers at him before moving around the bedroom and pulling on her clothes.</p><p>“You don’t have to be an asshole,” Sam commented, scooting out of bed to also throw on some boxers. </p><p>“Bye,” Dean waved, wiggling his fingers as the woman flipped him off while she hastily exited the bedroom. </p><p>“Dean, why are you here!” </p><p>The spider-web thin sting holding together Dean’s restraint snapped. “I’m not the one who should be answering questions right now Sammy!” He crowded into Sam’s space. “I just spent the last 24 hours playing car dodgeball with a bunch of fucking angry Cubans, then you know what happened? Mhm? I ended up at a diner with some girl who asked for me personally, by the way, after three hours of sleep saying she witnessed a murder and you want to know what she said to me?” Dean said, pouring the fire from his eyes into his brother’s soul. “Poughkeepsie. Fucking Poughkeepsie Sam!” Dean didn’t bother to slow down even after all the color drained from his brother’s face. “Now you are going to me why some random redhead knows our get the fuck out of Dodge word?”</p><p>Sam tried to sputter a response but resigned himself to nodding. Dean waited to let Sam collect himself. “Sam, what have you gotten yourself into?” Dean softened, letting his anger bleed out. </p><p>Sam shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You said a girl used our word?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And she said she witnessed a murder.” Dean nodded, letting Sam put whatever pieces in his mind together. “And she asked for you personally?” Dean nodded again. </p><p>“She said her friend Kevin—” Dean managed to get out before Sam was shouldering past him and bounding into the living room. “Put some clothes!” Dean called out after his brother’s retreating form. Fuck. Dean threw his hands up. And the police department called him dramatic. Swiping a t-shirt and pair of gym shorts off the floor, Dean chased after the giant. </p><p>Walking into the living room, the three stooges were already divulged into conversation introductions between them seemingly over with. “My apologies Sam,” Cas spoke, his eyes staring hard at Sam’s face and not his brother’s naked form. </p><p>“It’s fine. Dean has a habit of diving headfirst into things. The city is still cleaning up the highway from your adventure this morning.”</p><p>Charlie snapped her fingers, clearly unbothered by the naked moose. “That was you two! I thought you guys looked familiar!”</p><p>Cas sighed, posture stiffening. “Dean insisted on going in guns blazing,” he said at the same time Sam said, “Tell me about Kevin,”</p><p>“Hey!” Dean hollered, all three heads turning towards him like a teacher scolding a group of children. Hurling the garments in his hands at his brother’s head, Dean felt a thrum of satisfaction at the bitch face he received when his little brother pulled the clothes from his face and started slipping them on, a slight flush on his face. “Now, let’s do this right.” Dean said, slipping into his detective side, “Charlie, tell us everything from the beginning, don’t leave any detail out no matter how small or insignificant you think it is okay?” She nodded in response. “Sam, after Charlie you better come clean with what is going on, no secrets you hear me? We need every piece of information we can get.” Sam nodded as well, then turned to Charlie, gesturing for her to sit on the couch. </p><p>While Charlie settled in on the couch, Dean went to the fridge, grabbing her a bottle of water and good old Jack—it had been a long day for everyone. A freshly dressed Sam sat beside her, Cas hovered off to the side, and Dean brought back the refreshments. He stood directly in front of Charlie, offering her the water but smirked when she gratefully took the Jack instead—they might get along yet. </p><p>Taking a big swig like a frat boy champ, Charlie handed the bottle to Sam and started recounting her day. All had been routine up until the point she smacked into Kevin on her way home. She remembered clearly how flustered, sweaty, and shifty he had been acting. Her voice trembled as she talked about how neither one of them should have been there, given Roman Enterprises’ strict office policy and how determined Kevin looked when they heard voices drawing closer to them. She explained the instructions Kevin gave her: the flash drive, the business card, to call Sam and Dean, and get the hell out of the building. She stumbled over the next part, her voice cracking as she told them how she ducked around the corner. </p><p>Tears spilled as her choked sob interrupted her story. Dean had to give credit where credit was due, Charlie was a tough cookie managing to hold her cool together until now. Sam stroked a reassuring hand up and down her back, his face just as broken despite his façade. Charlie’s next few words were the most important: two men carrying pistols gunned down Kevin after he had valiantly stood up to them, his mocking a small victory. He gave his life to protect her and the flash drive, she hiccupped as she told them it was the first time she'd seen someone fire a gun let alone shoot someone. Her voice crumpled the way Kevin did in her description as she retold the next few moments: Kevin going down, her flight or fight instincts kicking in, her hasty escape, the Russian or German accents. Dean nodded, catching Cas taking notes out of his peripheral—nerd—and any other time Dean would be giving him shit about it but now was not the time. </p><p>The tremendous guilt threaded itself through Sam’s facial features the longer Charlie sobbed. Dean’s heart ached at the sight knowing it meant Sam felt responsible for what happened to Kevin. Dean stood silently, letting both of them take small comfort in each other for the loss of their mutual friend, no words could bring either of them solace but sweet justice might ease the burden.</p><p>Tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, Sam straightened, looking ready to explain why tonight’s events occurred. “Kevin—he—Kevin found me,” Sam started and stopped, collecting his thoughts or perhaps trying to string together fragments of the truth. </p><p>“Spit it out Sammy,” Dean said, crossing his arms staring down at his brother in a sibling smackdown sort of way. “Now is not the time for your lawyer games, your friend, or CI or whatever the hell this kid was to you is dead, so spill and spill <em><strong>everything</strong></em> I mean it.”</p><p>Two dramatic huffs later, Sam deflated. “As I said, he came to me because he believed he could trust me. Kid ran this highly illegal, crazy extensive background on me to make sure I wasn’t taking bribes or some sleazy lawyer just trying to make a name for themselves. He said he could tell I cared about the people I represented and that he admired my work for hunting criminals with the full power of the law.”</p><p>“But why did he come to <em>you</em>, Sam?”</p><p>Sam did a Dean’s going to kill me inhale and exhale, a particular inhale and exhale Dean had only seen when he was totally in fact on the edge of murdering his little brother—usually for something utterly stupid. “While working at Roman Enterprises, Kevin had uncovered something. Something huge. He sounded like a conspiracy nut trying to explain it to me. </p><p>“But he brought me proof. From the outside, it looks like Roman Enterprises is using its investment yield to expand. They’d begun acquiring a range of several small businesses from a concrete company to a pharmaceutical lab. </p><p>“These seem like innocent acquisitions with none of the companies having any connection besides their parent company, Roman Enterprises. Coincidentally, these subsidiaries seemed to be spawning their own subsidiaries and those spawning their own subsidiaries.”</p><p>“But it wasn’t a coincidence? There’s no such thing in the world of business,” Dean said, following along the line Sammy was drawing. </p><p>With a sigh, Sam continued, “Right, Roman Enterprises bought these companies to set up a system of hard-to-track dummy and shell corporations. None of the income or sales these shell corporations had been reporting on their financials were real. All of their statements were doctored by a true professional to appear that all operations were running normally.</p><p>“Roman Enterprises was trickling money into these corporations through a series of advanced invoice systems, little bits here and there to buy and redistribute drugs and guns. Once the bribes with the local politicians and gangs were made, the remaining funds funneled back into Roman Enterprises with none the wiser. </p><p>“Dean, this runs deep. I’m talking about wayward city officials taking bribes, dirty cops looking the other way, prolific corporate CEO’s using their companies as fronts. I’m talking about Miami's most powerful untouchables looking at serving considerable sentences, if not life in jail with the evidence Kevin found.</p><p>“We were working on putting together a case that was going to turn Miami upside down. The underlying drug trade is the source of income funding for all of these operations. Kevin knew if we could find the root supplier, we could trace it back to Roman Enterprises and tie all the loose strings together in one solid, irrefutable case so no cockroach would be able to survive when we brought down the crushing truth,” Sam finished, sounding every bit of the top-graduate Stanford lawyer he was. </p><p>Dean’s brain has been dot-hopping connecting them since the moment Sam began to explain himself, there’s a slim chance in hell the case Sam’s been putting together and the one he’s been investigating for months aren’t connected. This Roman Enterprises seemed to be a real fucking monster—smart, resourceful, and straight-up ballsy. But whoever was holding the reins to this monster fucked up, they didn’t just have one Winchester hunting them now they had two. And the Winchesters were in the business of hunting scum like this and killing Kevin declared open season on their asses. </p><p>With that thought in the back of Dean’s mind, he refocused his attention to the problem at hand—breaking apart Sammy’s enormous information dump. “Okay, so essentially Roman Enterprises right now is like that monster from Hercules—”</p><p>“Hydra,” the popcorn gallery pops off—Jesus all of them are a bunch of nerds.</p><p>“Right, hydra. If we just keep busting these low time dealers, two or more will take their place. So, by finding the main supplier we can dry up their cash flow and gut this monster. Then the slimy fucker behind all of this will slither out of his hidey-hole.” </p><p>“Dean.” Sam’s voice wavered with a cautionary air. “I can’t involve you in this.”</p><p>“Well too damn bad Sammy, did you forget Feathers and I work in narcotics? We’ve probably been chasing this ghost for months. With your intel and our groundwork, we can finish putting together your case and get justice for Kevin.”</p><p>“I want to help.” Charlie cut in; her eyes lit with fire. “Kevin was a coding prophet so whatever intel or evidence he was digging up he was doing it under the radar. You’re going to need a hacker, one with a score to settle.”</p><p>“Well aren’t we just a rag-tag team of avengers,” Dean comments. If they’re going to do this, going to take down some fucking criminal kingpin they’re going to need to be two, no three steps ahead, play it smart and trust fucking no one. </p><p>Shifting into a more serious tone—someone’s got to Fred this Scooby-gang—Dean said, “Okay, Sam you said no one at city hall knew you were building this case, right?” Sam nods his affirmation, “Good, trust no one. Red, I’m sure we can put your skills to use. Feathers and I here will hit the streets; with our bust yesterday we might be able to drum up some viable leads. For everyone’s safety, no information is shared outside the four of us.” Dean took an inhale and exhaled. “Understood?” </p><p>Everyone nodded in response. With a general consensus about keeping the case under wraps, Dean moved on to tackling the urgent matters at hand. “Okay, I’m going to call Bobby in a bit and let him know we have the witness, Sam call a judge and get a warrant to search Roman Enterprises. Feathers, since Charlie here asked for me personally, there’s a chance they’ll look for her here. They’ve already killed one person for whatever is on that flash drive, so I need you to find a place to keep her safe that anybody looking won’t be able to tie back to me and Sam.”</p><p>“I’ll call Rufus, the man never sleeps,” Sam said, standing and heading off to his room to grab his cellphone. Taking his own cell phone out, Dean shot Bobby a short text saying he needed to talk to him in the morning—the less in writing the better, one can never be too careful. </p><p>Cas rolled his eyes at his cellphone with a furrowed brow, fingers flying over his keyboard as he typed a response. Shoving his own cell phone back in his front pocket, Dean arched an eyebrow at his partner. Cas’s fingers typed another response before he met Dean’s eyes with a shallow nod and also pocketing his cellphone. </p><p>Sam returned from his bedroom hovering in front of the couch with a frown. “I’ve got you a warrant but it’s only to search where Charlie said she saw the murder, no one has called in a body so all we have is her testimony at the moment.” </p><p>“I’ll take what I can get,” Dean said with a shrug Of course none of this was going to be easy. “I texted Bobby. If there’s anyone we can trust it’s Bobby, not like we can hide anything from him anyway.” </p><p>“I have secured safe housing for Charlie,” Cas said with his normal formal tone. “My cousin has an apartment not far from mine he’s not using since he’s London. He told me we can use it as long as we need.”</p><p>“Great,” Dean said, turning his attention from Cas to Sam. “Sam, how long before the warrant is ready?”</p><p>“Thirty minutes, forty tops.”</p><p>“Awesome, when we go to serve the warrant Sam, I want you to take Charlie to the safe house.” Dean looked around at his new crime-fighting squad, a nagging feeling tugging at the back of his mind. “Are we forgetting anything?”</p><p>And with that question, Captain obvious swooped in with an answer, “We haven’t checked the flash drive yet.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OH! Plot! Is that you? Comments and speculations are welcome!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Flash Drives and Tailored Suits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter Warning: Heart-Stopping Art</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">Chapter 5: Flash Drives and Tailored Suits</div>
</h3><p>Three mouths opened and closed simultaneously whilst gaping at Cas. </p><p>“Fuck,” Dean muttered. The one piece of evidence or potential lead they did have in which someone was literally killed over was completely forgotten. </p><p>Two steps ahead of everyone else, Charlie dug around her backpack, producing her laptop and the possible drug-empire-toppling drive. Charlie set her laptop on the table gingerly, as if setting it down harder than with a featherlight touch would shatter it, and flipped the lid open. </p><p>The moment the screen lit up everyone was instantly crowded together on the couch, straining to see the screen, personal space be damned. One hand the flash drive seemed harmless, nothing more than a cheaper throw away drive you’d find at any local grocery store or electronics store but on the other hand, Dean knew better now than to judge a book by its cover—his partner prime example numero uno. </p><p>Charlie clicked the drive into the USB port on the side and for a moment Dean felt the familiar thrum of anticipation; Would the screen go black and fry the laptop? Would it pop up some crazy kind of code like the Matrix? Would it pop it with a timer on the screen and cause the laptop to catch fire and combust?</p><p>When nothing but the drive icon popped up, Dean shook his head. He really needed to quit watching bad 80’s cop drama movies. But he secretly loved all the blatant faulty police work, the bad acting and no matter how it started, the bad guy always lost in the end. </p><p>Clicking on the flash drive the menu screen popped up. The only thing was a single folder, Dean knew his way around a computer enough to effectively use one but not enough to be dangerous like Charlie. Judging from the skepticism written on her face, she wasn’t expecting a single folder either. Pressing closer much to Sam’s dismay from the quick bitch face he shot Dean, everyone seemed to collectively hold their breath as the pointer icon hovered the nameless folder. </p><p>Two taps and…</p><p>Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. </p><p>“It’s empt—"–“Kevin, you genius.” Charlie squealed over the top of Dean with a zeal mixture of awe and excitement. </p><p>“Charlie, if I may ask you to explain? This drive seems empty,” Cas said, pulling out his gentlemen act; Dean wanted to gag but settled on rolling his eyes at his partner. While Charlie probably appreciated being treated like a lady, she had a ‘hang with the boys’ air about her; Dean didn’t doubt the redhead, nerdy or not, could kick his ass. </p><p>“The folder <em>seems</em> empty. But the sheer data size of the thing would say otherwise.” Dean watched as Charlie pulled up some kind of HTML menu littered with lines of code he had no chance in hell of understanding, and continued watching as her fingers flew faster off the keys than Sam’s did when he was bitching Dean out through text messages. Fuck, he didn’t even know it was humanly possible to type that fast. </p><p>More menus popped up equally filled with lines of HTML code and maybe ones and zeros; Dean reached over to grab the bottle of Jack, his eyes swimming from staring at the screen. Taking a swig, Dean ignored the two sets of arched eyebrows from his partner and his brother. </p><p>With fingers still flying and eyes squinted at the screen, Charlie said, “Kevin developed a ghost drive, I knew he was a coding prophet, but this is sheer genius, he’s layered the information in and hid most the data and to anyone less technical than myself this would be nonsense.”</p><p>Squinting a little harder, Charlie clicked her tongue like she had found what she was looking for. “Kevin managed to hide a whole software program in this code, and I think I just found it. You see every hacker has a handle they weave into their work, it’s a way other hackers identify each other’s work. Kevin did one better he made his handle the key to opening this file and…”</p><p>Charlie trailed off as the screen went black before booting up with a screen containing a single bar in the center with the word password state above it. </p><p>“What do you think it could be?” Sam gaped; eyes wide at Charlie’s computer wizardry. </p><p>Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Charlie gave an honest answer casting a general unsure glance at the attending audience, “I don’t know. But if this was meant for you Sam, my best bet is you know the password.” </p><p>Dean felt a pang of guilt as Sam looked like a lost actor thrust into the spotlight who had forgotten all their lines from stage fright, shaking his head no. Sam floundered trying to find words but settled on running his hands through his hair; a tell-tale sign his little brother felt uncomfortable and frazzled. </p><p>“Sam, Kevin came to you and gave his life for this. I’m sure he left you an answer, it may be more obvious than you think.” Cas tried consoling Sam, but his words had the gears in Dean’s brain turning.</p><p>“It may be more obvious than you think,” Dean whispered repeating the words to himself as if doing so would hold the key to this lock, and perhaps it did, “Charlie, you said Kevin gave you a business card, right?” Charlie nodded while Dean pushed forward with his line of thinking, “You said Kevin told you to call us, but you never said how you knew the word Poughkeepsie.”</p><p>Her eyes widened with the realization on where Dean was taking this crazy train. “Kevin had written it down on the business card, it would mean nonsense to anyone else.”</p><p>“You really think Kevin used our safe word as the password?” Sam’s fears were understandable, but it was the best shot they had. </p><p>“Sam, I think the card was meant for you. I think Kevin purposefully left you the password in case anything were to happen to him.” Dean didn’t know Kevin, yet he sounded so sure in his reasoning. Kid had thought of everything up until he was shot, why the fuck wouldn’t he have a contingency plan?</p><p>“Okay,” Sam deflated, his hope evident even though Dean knew he was trying to conceal it, “okay let’s try it.” </p><p>Each press of the key felt like a mini millennium though Charlie’s sweep across the keys. Swallowing the bile building in his throat, Dean wanted to pitch the whole thing out the window along with the joint suffocating tension radiating off everyone. With the press of the enter key, a collective exhale filled the space. Documents and files filled the screen. Every pair of eyes shifted over file after file filing the screen; this was going to take hours, maybe even days to wade through. </p><p>“Wow.” Sam voiced the general consensus. </p><p>“I’m going to need time to work with this software Kevin coded. I’m sure there is a way to sort through all this,” Charlie said, already distracted by typing away. </p><p>“You need some sleep,” Cas said, standing and adjusting his suit. “You had a traumatizing evening; I trust Sam will get you to my cousin’s place safely. There will be plenty of rooms for everyone to sleep in, Dean and I will meet you thereafter we talk to Bobby.” </p><p>“I get all tingly when you take control like that, Feathers,” Dean smirked, watching Cas roll his eyes while shoving his hands in his pockets. </p><p>“I believe we have a warrant to serve, Freckles,” Cas sassed with his usual <em>I’m over your bullshit</em> tone.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>1 Hour Later</p>
</div><hr class="hr"/><p>With a signed warrant from the judge and Sam and Charlie heading towards the safe house, Dean tapped his fingers in time with radio along the steering of his Baby while pulling into the Roman Enterprises parking lot. </p><p>The all-glass building loomed and looked every bit as pretentious Dean assumed the CEO Dick Roman was. It screamed<em> I’m important and I know it</em> and the sight made Dean’s stomach churn. Evil always came in the best-dressed packages; the press of his holster clip biting into his hip provided an inkling of comfort. Cas nodded at Dean’s ready to do this look Dean tossed him and both men slid out of Baby seamlessly. </p><p>“What do you think Feathers?” Dean eyed his partner as they neared the building, his gut swirling with a sense of wrongness. Not one thing seemed out of place, everything seemed utterly normal, too normal in Dean’s opinion. </p><p>Cas’s head shake told Dean he was feeling the wrongness Dean was; somewhere in the months they had been working together they’d managed to become attuned to one’s instincts. “Something doesn’t feel right, why has no one called in a dead body or called in a possible break-in?”</p><p>“Finally developing that gut I keep telling you about.”</p><p>“I don’t know how my stomach has anything to do with our circumstances.”</p><p>“Well, you’re about to find out. Watch my six. If something goes sideways, get to Bobby as fast as possible,” Dean said, grasping the handle on the front door of the office building. </p><p>A tug on his wrist had Dean turning to his partner’s steel eyes. “We go in together, we get out together.” </p><p>Shoving off the <em>awe, my partner cares</em> feelings, Dean nodded before pulling open the door; they didn’t have time for chick flick moments. If Cas wanted to do this one together fine, no reason to be fucking sappy about it. The sleek, modern lobby sported an open floor plan and clean lines. Roman Enterprises’ receptionist took one glance at the pair, picked up the phone angry whispering into it as they approached. </p><p>Hanging up the phone, she schooled her features painting on a vibrant smile which didn’t reach her eyes. “Welcome to Roman Enterprises.”</p><p>“Shelve your fake customer service shit, we have a signed warrant.” Dean flashed the warrant not bothering to stop at the desk, completely blowing past it with his partner hot on heels while ignoring the lady’s commands to <em>stop</em>, and <em>sir you can’t use our elevators</em>. Punching the button, Dean peeked over his shoulder, hiding the smile threatening his lips at the sight of heels retreating back to the desk, the receptionist dramatically talking into the phone. The elevators dinged before sliding open. Dean stepped in with Cas right behind him and punched the B1 button for the basement then the door close button. Dean flashed his infamous Winchester smile with a mocking wave at the lady bounding across the lobby screaming stop at them. </p><p>“Must you infuriate everyone?” The rhetorical question made Dean smirk at his partner’s sigh of deep experience with Dean’s bullshit laced words. </p><p>“What?” Dean princess pouted his lips while feigning innocence as he watched the numbers on the elevator countdown. “I think I’m adorable.”</p><p>The doors dinged open but not before Dean caught Cas huffing behind him as they exited the elevator. Scanning over the diagram posted on the wall outside the elevator, Dean beelined it to the right where the servers should be located. Entering the room, it was exactly how Charlie described—isolated with cardboard hamster cages surrounded by whirling and humming noises topped off with the occasional blinking light. A shiver ran down his spine; while Dean admired those, who managed to make the world turn because honestly, office workers did, he couldn’t picture himself behind a desk nestled in a cubicle somewhere. </p><p>Cas stepped around him scanning the room with his freaky keen hawk eyes. The smell of bleach faintly touched his nose, and by the frown, on Cas’s face, he was piecing together about as much as Dean was which added up to big fat nothing. Nobody, no blood, no bullet holes or shell casings, no broken glass, not even a coffee stain in the damn carpet. </p><p>Even with the few hours head start on clean up, to find not even a shred of evidence was unprecedented. Both men walked the space staring at the floor, examining inside and out cubicles, the metal on containing the servers trying to find the smallest remnants of the murder. </p><p>Their search was interrupted by a Wall Street wannabe in a navy pinstripe suit puffing out his chest parading an air of importance. </p><p>Mr. High and Mighty strode over to them with overly calculated steps as if not to appear eager or worried. “Gentlemen.”</p><p>Dean stiffened but eased his stance as he felt Cas step up beside him. If Dean was a betting man, he’d say this pompous prick was Dick Roman himself. </p><p>“Sorry, Sunshine.” Dean waved the warrant at the man. “We have a warrant to search this premise.”</p><p>“As I’ve been told.” The man smiled with all teeth like a shark smiling the moment before eating its dinner as he presented his hand to be shaken. “I apologize for my rudeness. Dick Roman, CEO.” </p><p>Dean couldn’t help but think a name had never been more fitting for a man given the obvious dick Dick Roman was. </p><p>When neither officer moved to shake the man’s hand, Dean noticed the twitch of his lips as Dick tried not to frown from their lack of manners. “What brings you here with a warrant, Officer…”</p><p>“Winchester, and my partner Officer Novak.” Dean didn’t bother extending his hand nor offering any more information besides. “Feel free to read the warrant while we continue our search.” </p><p>Rich people like Dick were always on some power trip trying to intimidate others with their status and money but too bad so sad, Dean didn’t play those games. With a shit-eating grin, Dean gladly shoved the warrant to Dick’s chest and shouldered past him while Cas stood there eye-locked with Dick not willing to let the fuckwad interrupt their investigation for a second. While the battle of<em> fucking move, I dare you</em> and blue suits raged on, Dean did another walk around of the area praying for the tiniest trace of evidence.</p><p>“Tell me Officer have you found anything imperative to your murder investigation?” Dick asked in Dean’s general direction not standing down from his staring contest with Cas after having read the warrant, the asshole’s voice smug and pretentious. </p><p>Circling back to stand next to his partner, Dean schooled his facial features falling back into his usual detective questioning. “Can you tell me where you were last night?” </p><p>“I was at a charity function late into the evening.”</p><p>“Is there anyone willing to corroborate your whereabouts?” Cas’ gravelly voice followed up on Dean’s line of questioning. Time for a little Bad Cop, Worse Cop questioning. </p><p>“I spent the majority of the evening entertaining the Chief of Police and City Governor,” Dick responded, but Dean wasn’t buying his 'roses don’t smell like shit' act. </p><p>“And after the charity event, is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts?” Dean questioned.</p><p>“I spent the evening with a quite fetching young lady in fact and I’m sure she would be more than willing to explain exactly where I was last night,” Dick leered. Ugh, Dean felt honestly sorry for the poor woman who spent the night with probably a two-pump chump. With one look Dean could tell he was rocking a tootsie-roll penis instead of the monster cock he more than likely lied about having. </p><p>And with no tact or shame his partner asked, “Could you be more specific Mr. Roman, exactly where did you spend time with this lady last night?” </p><p>Watching Roman sputter for a second, Dean internally chuckled. </p><p>“We were in my bedroom having sexual relations if you must know.” </p><p>“And this woman will in fact testify she was sexually intimate with you?” Cas continued on his question roll. </p><p>“Sexually intimate and sexually satisfied are two different things, Feathers,” Dean threw in, basking in Dick’s slipping smile and fuck off stare. Man, Dean would never get tired of knocking assholes like Dick down a peg. </p><p>“I can assure she left quite pleased in the morning,” Dick tried to defend himself but Cas’s <em>uh-huh sure</em> eyebrow raise and the hum of doubt sliced down the fucker’s ego big time and Dean had to admit he was pretty damn proud. Roman rubbed a hand down the front of his suit trying to smooth nonexistent wrinkles. “If you haven’t found anything and if there are no other questions for me officers, I’d like for you to leave.” </p><p>With narrowed eyes, Cas reached into his suit and pulled out a business card. “We’ll be in touch.” Cas held up the card so Dick could pluck it from his fingers. </p><p>As Dean stepped around Dick, he stopped a hair shy of the man’s ear leaning in and making sure his voice was laced with a threatening undertone, “I wouldn’t try leaving the country or doing anything stupid if I were you.” </p><p>Dean held Roman’s eyes to let his threat sink in as Cas stepped around them and towards the exit. They didn’t have the evidence yet, but Dean could feel it, somehow or some way Dick Roman was connected to this. Dean’s seen his fair share of killer’s eyes but looking into Roman’s it was more than that, more a wolf in sheep’s clothing; eyes filled with nothing but blood, manipulation, and deceit—a true sociopath. </p><p>Halfway to the door, “Officers, I do have two employees missing. Not sure if it's connected, but one of our young ladies that works in the I.T. department missed work today, I do hope she’s okay.” Roman’s smile was slicker than a hungry Midwest used car salesman trying to sell the deal of the day. “It would be a real shame if something bad happened to her.” </p><p>Standing there his toothy smile and hands in his suit pockets, Dean caught a glimpse of the monster that was Dick Roman. No judge in the world would say Dick’s words were a threat but Dean saw it exactly as that, a threat. Dean grit his teeth; any retort could possibly compromise Charlie’s safety, but the threat also revealed Dick had no idea where Charlie was, and Dean intended on keeping that way. So, being the professional he was, he gave Dick a grand smile and flipped him the bird before pulling the server door open for his head-shaking partner. </p><p>Heading back to Baby after leaving the building in silence, mulling over the nothing they found, Dean swore to himself they’d put Roman either behind bars or six feet under. </p><p>“What do you think?  Roman's in on it?” his partner questioned as Dean started Baby, throwing her in reverse, the sooner they were away from this fucking place the better.</p><p>“Oh, he’s on it. But we have what he's looking for, we need to keep Charlie safe at all costs. He knows she has the flash drive. Roman’s got resources if he managed to move a body and cover-up it like it never happened.” Checking both ways before pulling onto the street, Dean set Baby on a path back to the station.</p><p>“We’d be wise not to underestimate Roman, he seems more dangerous than he let on.”</p><p>“Don’t worry Feathers, I ain’t afraid of a little Dick,” Dean shot off with a wink, white-knuckling the steering wheel and hammering the gas a bit more, hoping Bobby could provide a little insight on their new number one enemy.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Miami PD: Headquarters</p>
</div><hr class="hr"/>
<p></p><div class="center"></div>Busybodies buzzed in at headquarters like bees in a hive—all work. They walked not even bothering to stop by their desks and headed straight for the Captain’s office.<p>Bobby’s face fell into a deep frown upon seeing Dean walk straight in and plop down in a chair while Cas occupied the other seat after shutting the office door. </p><p>“What are you idjits up to now?” Bobby sat back in his seat, glancing between the two of them. “Boy, what happened with the witness?”</p><p>“What we are going to say to you is not to leave this office. We believe our witness is under immediate threat and we have taken necessary precautions to ensure her safety.” Dean licked his lips, choosing his next words very carefully given their weight. “Bobby, we believe there are possible dirty cops in on our force, not only dirty cops, wayward politicians and CEOs taking kickbacks from drug dealers.” </p><p>The Captain’s eyes went as wide as saucers. Calling another cop dirty on the force was no little matter because if you accused a cop of being dirty and were wrong you better off dead; the only thing worse than tarnishing your reputation was losing the trust of the entire force.</p><p>“Dean do you know what you’re saying?” </p><p>“Captain,” Cas cut in, “we are aware of the implications from what we are implying. Sir, we believe the bust yesterday is connected to a bigger criminal organization operating in the shadows with substantial money and resources.”</p><p>The older man scratched at his gruff in thought, the gears in his mind turning. “You’re saying there are cops in my department being paid off essentially, and—”</p><p>Dean interrupted, he needed Bobby to understand how deep this river of corruption ran, “Not just in our department Bobby, possibly in every department and the city. Sam’s been—”</p><p>“Jesus boy, Sam is involved in this?” </p><p>“Sir, Sam had been working with an outside consultant building a case to take down this organization and all those involved. Until—” </p><p>“Until his CI was murdered but not before the clever little guy managed to hand off the evidence he collected to a trusted individual.” Dean finished his partner’s sentence; it was something Dean’s noticed and had been hoping more and more. </p><p>“You realize you two sound crazier than two cuckoos who flew over the damn cuckoo nest!”</p><p>“Bobby you have to believe us,” Dean pleaded, knowing he was playing his entire hand. </p><p>“I do! Which makes me crazier than the two of you knuckle-heads,” the Captain sighed, scratching at his beard with a frown before leveling the both of them with a hard-set stare. “What do you need from me?”</p><p>“What can you tell us about Dick Roman?” Dean leaned forward; thankful Bobby was willing to put his neck out for them. </p><p>The old man’s eyebrows attempted to touch his receding hairline. “Dick Roman? Jesus boy, you think he’s involved in this?”</p><p>With nods of confirmation from both Dean and Cas, Bobby shook his head. “Roman has friends in high places including the Police Chief, he won’t be easier to take down if you boys are going after him.” </p><p>“He won’t be the only one we take down.” </p><p>“Do you have a plan?”</p><p>“Not yet sir, but we have solid evidence. We just need some time to pull it all together.” Dean smiled, Cas was always coming in to save the day with his damn elegant words. </p><p>“Okay, I’ll buy you two as much time as I can, from this moment forward you both are working undercover and will be unreachable. If anyone asks, the witness flew the coop and is in the wind. Try and keep me informed without compromising yourselves. And boys if there are dirty cops in my unit, I want them eradicated, gone. You hear me?”  And with one last huff, “And for all that is holy will you two get some sleep? You two look like a pile of dog shit. Now get out of my office.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Safe House: Location Confidential</p>
</div><hr class="hr"/>
<p></p><div class="center"></div>Dean was beginning to think all of Castiel’s family was loaded. Cas’s cousin’s place easily made Cas’ penthouse look like a shack. Vegas suites had nothing on this place—a huge open floor plan, a plush couch that could easily sit twenty people in the center surrounding a floor to ceiling fireplace, three bedrooms each with an individual bathroom.<p>Dean let out a low whistle in appreciation of the place, nudging Cas in the ribs as they entered. “Damn Feathers, your cousin’s place puts yours to shame.”</p><p>“Gabriel tends to be pretty self-indulgent,” Cas replied, moving deeper into the suite. </p><p>“What’s a guy gotta do to get a place like this,” Dean said, swirling in a circle, admiring the sleek walls and modern architectural design. </p><p>“Gabriel is a porn-star.” </p><p>Dean stopped his turning to gape at his partner’s deadpanned tone, ‘for real?’ written all over his face. </p><p>“He also has quite the sweet tooth and travels the world to learn from the best chocolatiers about candy making. He’s currently in London which is why he agreed to let us borrow this place for the time being.” </p><p>Maybe Dean liked the wrong Novak. This one was rich, a sex fiend, not his partner and…catching a glimpse of the guy in his ridiculous portrait above the fireplace, nope, no thank you—Gabe looked short with hazelnut princess hair that rivaled Sammy’s and golden eyes; Cas definitely stole all the good looking genes in the family. Dean shuddered involuntarily wiping his mind OCD clean of any decent thoughts about Cas’s cousin. </p><p>Sam and Charlie had been productive while they were busy dealing with Dick. A pinboard was set up in the middle of the room—a little old school but then again Dean lived for the old school—with several mugshots already hanging. </p><p>“What happened to getting some sleep, you two?” Dean knew he sounded like a mother hen, but his team was rocking enough dark circles to be an underground goth band. </p><p>“Dean.” Sam sounded half-crazed as he turned to greet them. “Cas.” He nodded before breaking out into a smile gesturing at the pinboard. “We’ve been busy! Charlie’s been sorting through all of the evidence Kevin complied and I think we have managed to sort out the major players and,” Sam pointed to one fugly mug at the top of picture tower, “this guy, Balthazar, seems to be the leading launderer for this whole operation and the last man Kevin was able to investigate.”</p><p>“Sam and I believe Balthazar is the link to Roman.” Charlie looked up from her laptop to regard them then dived back into her typing. </p><p>Following right behind Cas, Dean looked over the board, paying special attention to Mr. Fugly Mug who sported quite the rap sheet—known ties to the Russian Mob, owner of one Miami’s most exclusive clubs, Ménage a Twelve, and now money launderer. They were going to need to do some serious surveillance before they got anywhere close to this guy. </p><p>“Alright, I’m going to order us some pizzas and we’ll come up with a game plan for getting close to this smiley asshole. And then we are all getting some fucking sleep.” </p><p>Three large pizzas and a decent plan of attack later, fatigue started to set in amongst the group: Charlie half-dozing on the couch, Sam swaying side to side with eyes fluttering closed every couple seconds, and Cas couldn’t stop himself from yawning every five minutes or so. Rubbing at his eyes, Dean called an end to their pow-wow. Charlie and Sam scurried to two of the bedrooms leaving Dean to rock, paper, scissors over the couch, and the last bedroom. In his half-delirious state, the offer to just share the last damn bed rested on the tip of Dean’s tongue. Remembering Cas’s taunt tan skin and even tighter orange boxer briefs, Dean rapidly killed the thought of offering; he did not need to share a bed with his sex on legs partner, not since just seeing Cas in his underwear gave Dean a chubby.  </p><p>Fuck, one of these days Dean would learn to throw something other than scissors; he grumbled at Cas’s smug face as he threw rock winning rights to Dean could only imagine was nice ass mattress. He watched Cas parade off to the last available bedroom while he settled in on the couch, every muscle in his body bone tired. Tomorrow would be the beginning of crumbling a multi-department drug fed crime syndicate, tonight though Dean was happy with a dreamless sleep definitely not missing the comforts of a mattress or a specific pair of baby blues.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>1 Week of Surveillance</p>
</div><hr class="hr"/>
<p></p><div class="center"></div>Over the week, the team gained a solid understanding of Balthazar’s inner workings of his operation. Seemed Balthazar’s Russian ties made it easy for him to employ some heavy-duty Bratva muscle at his club and meant he had Bratva mercenaries at his disposal. Balthazar more than likely provided the mercenaries in Kevin’s killing.<p>Dean clapped his hands. “Okay team let’s lay out what we know.” They had split up the surveillance—Charlie tasked with seeing if she could hack the camera system, Sam did the inside surveillance getting the layout of the club and who Balthazar affiliated with inside the club by impersonating a bartender while Dean and Cas staked the outside of the club following Balthazar, learning his routine inside and out.</p><p>“Balthazar has almost every inch of the club under camera except for his office; it seems to run on a closed system completely separate from his other cameras,” Charlie said, starting their information campfire. </p><p>“Charlie’s right whatever dealings Balthazar does he does in the privacy of his office, he also seems to have a weakness for redheads.” Cas jumped in. </p><p>“He’s employing members of the Russian Bratva as his muscle and has at least two to three posted outside the club—” Sam followed on Castiel’s heels.</p><p>“—And at least another three on the inside patrolling the dance floor and VIP section and one is always posted up right outside the hallway leading to Balthazar’s office. Except they rotate every two hours or so with a watchful eye and some good timing we should be able to sneak by. Plus, I made it appear one of the other bartenders was skimming from the till so more eyes should be on the bar.”</p><p>“Sammy, you naughty boy.” Dean teased.  </p><p>“Can we focus here?” Sam exasperated. </p><p>“Right,” Dean said, refocusing on the redhead sitting beside him.” Charlie, can you keep Balthazar occupied while Feathers and I find a way to the back office?” With a nod of acknowledgment and a determined smile from Charlie Dean pushed on, “Sam you’ll be our eyes in the sky. Bobby was reluctant but he’s letting us borrow a surveillance van. Feathers here has earpieces for all of us so we can stay in communication.” </p><p>Dropping his voice an octave, bordering on growling, he said, “If anything goes sideways, we get out of there you hear me? Especially you Charlie, if you feel even the tiniest bit something is off you bolt okay? Feathers and I can handle ourselves, but we need you safe we don’t know who Dick has out looking for you.” </p><p>When Charlie first volunteered to even go inside with the club, Dean wanted to veto it then and there, but Red had a fire that wouldn’t be snuffed out. Dean had to admit the spitfire hacker had grown on him, between her extensive Star Wars knowledge, kick-ass board game kills and snarky, teasing comments towards all three of them, she was like the sister Dean never had and never knew he kind of wanted until now. He’d rather take a bullet to both kneecaps before letting anyone harm a single hair on her head. </p><p>“Dean, Sam will have eyes on us the whole time. I can do this,” Charlie said, her voice strong even though Dean knew she was trying to console his nerves. </p><p>“There is one problem,” Sam said, all three pairs of eyes solely focusing on him now. “Hey, I’m just being honest. I worked there for a week and you can’t go in there dressed in anything less than couture, you’ll be spotted in an instant.”</p><p>“What are you saying, Sammy?”</p><p>“He’s saying we’ll have to suit up, Freckles.” His partner finally chimed in to the conversation, ever the stoic listener. If Dean was crazy, he’d say Cas was all but fucking the Cheshire Cat with his wide ass grin. “I’ll call my tailor and let him know we are coming.”</p><p>“Do you have to look so fucking excited about it?” Dean had a bad feeling about this. One, he never wore suits and two, he never wore suits. </p><p>“Don’t pout Freckles, it’s unbecoming of you.” </p><p>Charlie let out a squeal next to him. “We’re about to be some real-life 007’s.” Standing in the blink of an eye, Charlie snatched up Cas’s hand in her own, bouncing with excitement. “Oh my god, please tell me we are going to get to go all Octo-pussy on this asshole!”</p><p>Dean watched Cas melt at Charlie’s enthusiasm, probably not understanding her references at all, his face softening and fuck those damn crinkles in the corner of his eyes fucking crinkling a bit more, making his partner look extra soft. “Alright James Bond, let’s go.”</p><p>“Bond, James Bond,” Charlie muttered, running off to her bedroom to collect her things for the evening. </p><p>“Don’t even ask.” Dean held up his hand to silence his partner’s question, he did not have time to explain the Bond franchise at this moment, though, he could gush about Sean Connery for hours—not like he had a crush on him or anything when he was younger. Dean peered past his partner’s head-tilt up at Sam and saw Sam giving him an amused smile; fucker was probably thinking about his 007 poster he used to keep on his bedroom wall. Huh, guess he’s always had a thing for stoic, snarky dark-hair, blue-eyed badasses. </p><p>Once Charlie returned, Dean gave everyone a once over—they were a hell of an Avengers team. Channeling his inner Tony Stark, he said, “Let’s suit up.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Crowley’s</p>
</div><hr class="hr"/>
<p></p><div class="center"></div>Red neon lettering spelled Crowley with the end of the Y coming up to form a little pitchfork, an interesting sign for a tailored suit business. The man himself even more so. Short and stocky with a helluva accent, Crowley screamed King. Or perhaps he acted as such because he dressed Miami’s finest as if they were modern-day royalty.<p>“Hello, hello.” The accent carried as his partner pulled open the black framed glass door allowing him and Charlie to enter. Cas followed behind, but once the man caught sight of him, he parted Charlie and Dean like the red sea, “Castiel, always a pleasure. I see you brought friends.”</p><p>“Crowley,” Cas greeted. </p><p>“My, my Angel. I was quite excited when you called.”</p><p> Angel? A flare of possessiveness simmered beneath Dean’s skin as Crowley made himself more than friendly with his partner; the man's eyes trailing over Cas very appreciatively. “It’s always nice to be able to dress such a…fine physique. What will it be tonight?”</p><p>“Suits for my partner and me and a dress for the lady.” </p><p>“The venue?”</p><p>“Ménage a Twelve,” Cas answered following Crowley’s prompt, utterly oblivious to the <em>I would eat you for Sunday dinner</em> smile with which Crowley was devouring him. </p><p>“Well, you’ll be the caviar of the party,” Crowley said, running his hands up and down Cas’s chest one time. Anymore and Dean was thinking Crowley would look mighty good without his fingers. </p>
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</div><p>Grabbing Crowley’s wandering hands, Cas schooled his facial features. “Crowley we are in a hurry, I’m already paying extra for your services since we came in after hours.”</p><p>“Love it when you get all tough.” With a signature Smitey squint from Cas, Crowley spurred into action clapping his hands for his assistants. </p><p>“Please have your companions follow my assistants and—” Crowley stopped taking in Dean’s appearance before turning back to the ladies who had come to fetch them. “Burn that flannel please, a specimen this fine deserves to shine, not be hidden underneath  gauche block patterns….disgraceful.” </p><p>“Do not burn this shirt.” Dean pointed at one of the ladies already leading him away, a horrified expression on his face. This was his favorite flannel. </p><p>“Burn it!” Crowley called out, leading Cas the opposite direction while Charlie was led a different way as well. </p><p>This was why he didn’t wear suits. Dean felt ridiculous getting measured and standing on the little pedestal turning every which way for twenty minutes. Then he was shoved into a dressing room, trying not to vomit over the price tags on each piece they were having him try on. His partner better enjoy this because not only was Cas totally paying for it, but it would be the one time he would see Dean in a monkey suit, though as he looked himself over the mirror he had to admit he was a fucking catch. </p><p>He compromised with the lady, his flannel for a bit of Miami flair. They put together a white and black ensemble—a black button-down with white pineapples underneath a modern fit cut, black silky suit jacket. And, he couldn’t believe they talked him into it, but white fucking slim cut dress pants and black shoes so shiny he could see himself in them. </p><p>Stepping out of the dressing room, Dean caught Charlie’s eyes and she gave him a low whistle. </p><p>“Not so bad yourself, Charlie,” Dean complimented Charlie on her swanky dress. Decked out in crystals the bareback strappy A-line in deep plum on Charlie’s thin, tall frame was a showstopper.</p><p>She gave the dress a small twirl, letting the light play off the dress. “Thanks, but it doesn’t have pockets.” She pouted and as Dean was about to chuckle Cas stepped into view. </p><p>Charlie’s mouth hung open as much as Dean’s as she leaned over and whispered, “He’s dreamy.”</p><p>Licking his lips, Dean’s brain ceased all functions and a single, “Yeah,” fell from his lips as he drank in the absolute model his partner was. His mind must have quit because the next couple of moments felt like they were happening in slow motion. Cas’s three-piece black on black Zegna ensemble accented every muscle and every curve of Cas’ body. Crowley called him an Angel and seeing his work on Cas’s body he’d have to agree.  Cas looked like an Angel—an Angel of death. Dean wouldn’t mind being murdered. Hell, he’s not sure he wasn’t murdered five seconds ago when those baby blues met his. </p><p>“Ready?” Cas said, running a hand down the front of his crisp suit. </p><p>“Almost,” Dean responded, his legs moving on instinct. He needed to fix one thing. Cas arched an eyebrow at him as he popped the first two buttons on Cas’ dress shirt. “There, now you don’t look like a choir boy.” </p><p>“Thank you?” Cas said, unsure if he should be thanking Dean or if this was one of his compliments that were actual compliments. </p><p>Instead of meeting his partner’s blue eyes which glowed against his black backdrop of a suit, he smiled at Charlie, “Ready Tom Cruise?”</p><p>“Mission Impossible won’t have anything on us, Dean,” she answered, flipping her hair over her shoulder wobbling her way to the door. Dean bit back a laugh, so maybe they should have given her a smaller heel. </p><p>“Pineapples?” </p><p>Dean ran a hand down his shirt, a slight blush of self-consciousness on his cheeks. “I thought they looked good.”</p>
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</div><p>Cas hummed, already walking towards the door after Charlie, “They do.”</p><p>“Asshole,” Dean huffed with a smile, playing with his shirt cuff ignoring the fluttering in his chest. Time to party.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Did you see the art this chapter? Please, please go give <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/soleeryx">Soleeryx</a> some love. I mean really, look at the detail on the pineapple shirt. DROOL. Please leave your drool in the comments.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Party Don't Start 'Til We Walk In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">Chapter 6: The Party Don't Start 'Til We Walk In</div>
</h3><p>Castiel called his driving service which he gave more business than he would have liked to after becoming Dean’s partner while Crowley finished piecing together his outfit for the evening. He was also on a first-name basis with the high-end luxury car dealer in town much to his dismay. Seems bullet holes were becoming an increasing factor in how often he was replacing his sports cars. </p><p>“Are three pieces necessary?” Castiel asked Crowley after finishing up on the phone with the car service.</p><p>“Devil is in the details Angel; I won’t let a Novak walk out here in anything less than the best.”</p><p>“I’m already paying an exuberant amount for this; flattery is not necessary.” </p><p>Crowley chuckled darkly. “I assure you; I only flatter those worth my time and—” Crowley finished with his masterpiece and turned Castiel around to face the mirror, “—you are worth flattering, I’ve outdone myself again.” </p><p>The three-piece black on black Zegna fit snugly but still allowed him movement and flexibility, were he to need the use of his body for any close-quarters fighting. Fingering his hair into submission, he had to admit the black slimmed his physique while highlighting his more memorable features. It also didn’t hurt that the murdered-out suit added an air of mystery to him which would only improve his chances of making this sting operation a success. Being mysterious and anonymous, his favorite go-to’s. </p><p>Or so he thought. After adjusting both suit cuffs, he set off to find the rest of the team and begin this little mission. The highly eye-catching pineapple button-down and <em>white</em> dress pants Dean had chosen not only made his partner stand-out but the slim cut of the pants and black blazer made Dean downright delicious—a Greek Adonis fucked a Miami male model and somehow had a baby and that baby was his partner. It was flashy, but somehow so Dean, Castiel felt all his rational thinking drifting away to dangerous waters. </p><p>Straightening himself and tucking away his loose thoughts, he walked over to his team, complimenting Charlie on the dapper and dashing deep plum crystal-encrusted dress. </p><p>Running a hand down the front of his suit trying to gather himself before meeting Dean’s alluring emerald greens, he asked, “Ready?” </p><p>An “almost,” was not the response he was expecting, and before he could open his mouth, Dean had stepped well into his personal space with fingers already unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt. Arching an eyebrow, Dean already prompted an answer for his actions, “There, now you don’t look like a choir boy.”</p><p>Unsure of the meaning behind Dean’s words, he went with a somewhat casual, “Thank you,” as Dean’s attention shifted from his shirt to Charlie referencing another movie he'd never seen. What did a choir boy even look like? Rather than ponder his looks, he pondered on Dean’s. </p><p>“Pineapples?” he asked, loving the look but needing to focus his attention on the mission and not on Dean's gorgeous pineapple-clad chest by falling back into their usual partner comradery. </p><p>The last thing Castiel expected was the faint twinge of a blush followed by a half-confident, “I thought they looked good.”</p><p>And they do. “They do.” His brain supplied the words to his mouth, and before he could hear Dean respond, he chased after a wobbling Charlie. Lightly grabbing her elbow with an open palm to help steady her, Castiel peered over his shoulder one last time at his partner sending up a silent prayer to whoever is listening that tonight went well and that he kept his growing attraction in check. </p><p>A gleaming pearl white Rolls-Royce with the back-passenger door already held open awaited them as they stepped outside of Crowley’s. With a nod to the driver, Dean slid in first, Charlie in the middle, and finally himself. Sam would be outside the club in the surveillance van keeping track of their movements and would also provide getaway transportation. </p><p>The twenty-minute drive is spent discussing the plan in hushed voices and playing through what-if scenarios. Charlie has no field training, so Castiel was determined to have her as well vetted as he could before they arrived. The need for success that night weighed heavily in the air, a hefty buzzing in the car. </p><p>Ménage a Twelve was Miami’s prominent, premier night clubs for the elite and perfect cover for a money laundering business. A favorite stomping ground for many celebrities, politicians, and high-ranking businessmen, there was no shortage of backroom deals and blackmail. </p><p>Tonight, with a bit of luck they would crack open the shutters and shine some light on the underground dealings and bring down a drug-dealing Dick. The Royce pulled up to the curb and within a heartbeat, the valet attendant opened the door. They shuffled out of the car facing the huge establishment with purpose. Charlie linked both her arms through each one of theirs, giving both Dean and him a smile reminding them that they were in this together before setting off. </p><p>The plan hinged on Charlie successfully flirting her way into Balthazar’s VIP section and keeping him distracted while Cas and Dean found a way past the guard. </p><p>The bouncer looked over the trio once, then waved them inside, his neutral expression never bothering to change. Castiel pointed to his ear signaling if they needed to communicate, they could do so through the earpieces he handed out during the car ride. With a nod from both his cohorts, they broke apart. With dim lighting, a dance floor in the center, rotating color-changing overhead lights, a DJ up at the front of the dance floor thumping some type of mix of bass and radio songs, two bars right and back sides of the wall and a staircase to the VIP section on the left, Ménage was your typical Miami people of the night club. Truly overpriced and overpopulated in Castiel’s opinion. Although, the mass of people and bass dropping music should provide excellent cover. </p><p>“Alright this is your eyes in the sky.” Sam’s voice rang in his head as Castiel headed towards the bar to appear casual, shoving his way through the throng of people to the front of the bar. Hearing Sam's voice in his ear meant Sam had successfully yet nonchalantly parked the surveillance van outside, seemingly in place to the standard bystander. If this was going to work, Sam was going to have to keep a sharp eye on the cameras.Flagging down the bartender, Castiel scanned the crowd pinpointing both Dean and Charlie. Dean circled the dance floor throwing flirty smiles and Charlie sauntered to a small grouping of tables tossing her red locks over her bare shoulder. <em>Good everyone was in position</em>, he thought.</p><p>As he ordered a whiskey on the rocks and a martini. The obviously stressed bartender nodded, rushing off to get the drinks and attended to a few patrons before returning and all but throwing the drinks in Castiel’s direction before running off again. </p><p>Grabbing the drinks, Castiel whispered, “Sam do you have eyes on the target?” knowing Sam would be able to hear him. </p><p>“Roger, Balthazar is on the VIP deck peeping on the crowd,” Sam responded. One of these days he would have to get Charlie to show him, how she wizard her way into the security cameras. </p><p>“More like creeping.” Dean’s judging voice sounded gruffer through the earpiece. </p><p>Setting down the martini in front of Charlie, Castiel said, “Focus. Is he looking this way?” </p><p>“Not yet,” Sam assured while Castiel took a sip of liquid courage at the same time Charlie did. </p><p>“Is this shaken not stirred?” Charlie smirked.</p><p>Castiel tilted his head, a slight furrow on his brows. “I don’t understand that reference,” he said, nursing the whiskey in his hands. Maybe after they broke this case, he’d take Dean up on his movie education scheme he'd been droning on about for a few weeks now. </p><p>Charlie flashed him a genuine smile. He had to admit he’d grown rather fond of the redhead. Dean commented in passing, during their long week of stakeout surveillance,  that Charlie felt like the little sister he never had. Standing here watching her smile, about to willingly throw herself to the wolves in order to help them, he understood the feeling.  In a familial, sibling love kind of way, he’d gladly protect her from any harm.</p><p>“Charlie, casually look over your shoulder,” Sam instructed and Castiel trained his eyes on his drink while Charlie slowly turned and peered up. “Good, he’s looking at you.” </p><p>“Guys,” Charlie spoke with a nervous twinge to her voice, “I don’t know how to flirt with a dude.”</p><p>Castiel whipped his head up trying not to gape at Charlie while Dean’s exasperated voice came over the earpiece in both their heads, “What?”</p><p>Rolling her eyes, Charlie explained, “I’m straight lesbian Dean.”</p><p>Castiel reached out and placed his hand on top of hers asking, “Do you think you can fake it?” If she didn’t feel comfortable, Castiel would rather pull the plug on the mission right here, right now.</p><p>“I can do this,” she affirmed, sipping her martini for strength. </p><p>“Charles I’m glad for you telling us; I want you to listen to the sound of my voice. I’m going to walk you through this, when Mr. Creepy pants looks your way again, smile up at him like Scarlet Johannsen just brought you breakfast in bed,” Dean said, laying out his instructions in an easy soothing voice. </p><p>Nodding, Charlie looked up at Balthazar making eye-contact with a beautiful smile on her lips. “Okay once he starts smiling back, wink and take a sip of your drink. Wait three seconds before looking back; men like women who are a little coy.” </p><p>Following Dean’s words to a T; Charlie winked, sipped her drink, waited about five seconds before turning back to Balthazar, batting her eyelashes. </p><p>“You’re doing great Charles, now tuck a piece of hair behind your ear—” Charlie tucked a stray piece of hair, “and smile then bite your lip like you're about to eat a slice of warm apple pie.” A genuine smile accompanied a small huff before Charlie sunk her teeth into her lower lip while still maintaining eye contact with Balthazar. Two seconds later Balthazar gestured his head towards the stairs.</p><p>“Any advice now, Casanova?” Charlie said, taking a small sip from her martini. </p><p>A laugh rumbled through the earpiece. “Just keeping smiling, Charles. Guys like Balthazar will do all the talking if you let them.” </p><p>Charlie nodded, flashed a smirk in Castiel’s direction, and started for the VIP stairs; the mission was officially a GO. </p><p>Castiel waited, sipping his whiskey while watching Charlie from the corner of his eye as the bouncer let her ascend up the stairs to a waiting Balthazar. </p><p>“Sam, keep an eye on her,” Cas said with a sharpness, eyes already shifting back to the guards circling the floor like a swarm of sharks around a school of fish. </p><p>A hissed curse came through the earpiece snapping Castiel’s attention from the guards to seeking out his partner which was trying to mingle in with the dance crowd. His feet already moved on their own accord when Dean’s voice softly played in his ear, “I think I’ve been made, guess they don’t take kindly to a guy standing in a dark corner talking to himself.”</p><p>“Move to the middle of the dance floor, I’ll intercept you,” Castiel whispered, weaving through gyrating people left and right maneuvering his way towards the middle.</p><p>“Do something quick, you are on their radar Dean,” Sam warned. Dean was slightly faster in reaching the dense middle than Castiel. Flicking his eyes all around, Sam’s warning rang true: three sets of guard eyes were trained on Dean. Well if it’s a show they wanted then it’s a show they would get. </p><p>Having been forcibly dragged to a few clubs in his younger days by his cousin, he knew the basics of club dancing but in order for the half-baked plan in his mind to pull attention away from Dean to work, he'd need to be a bit bolder. Letting his instincts take control, Castiel snatched his partner’s wrist. Dean spun to face him with an arched eyebrow. </p><p>Pushing everything but his plan out of his mind, he pulled Dean by the wrist flush against him. The hand which once gripped his partner’s wrist was now pressing securely into the small of Dean’s back, while the other traveled aching slowly up and down Dean’s torso. Underneath his fingertips resting on Dean’s perky pec, he felt a stuttered inhale and exhale of breath. </p><p>Dean stood as still as a statue; he needed him to relax so this would be believable. He slid his hand from his partner’s lower back to his hip pushing gently to get Dean to sway side to side with him. Finally catching up to the program, Dean reached out with a slight hesitation before linking his arms around Castiel’s neck. Good, but not great. </p><p>Castiel stopped his torso tracing and slid his hand up the column of Dean’s throat reaching around to grip the back of his partner’s neck; fingers on the cusp of brushing the wisps of Dean’s neck hairs. Squeezing with light pressure, he pulled Dean down so he could rumble in the shell of his ear, “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.” </p><p>Their swaying came to an abrupt stop while Castiel could feel his partner’s Adam’s apple bob as if he was swallowing an impossible amount of air. Castiel took a half step to look into Dean’s eyes, maybe this plan was a bad idea but before he could even finish his thought, he caught a deliciously wicked smirk on Dean’s face. </p><p>Unlinking his arms, Dean pushed on Castiel’s chest putting a small gap between them. Panic coursed through his entire body, an apology was on the tip of his tongue when Dean turned around and squatted in an entirely sinful manner, he didn’t know his partner was capable of. As Dean came up, he grabbed both Castiel’s hands and <em>pulled</em>. Pressed completely front to back, Dean rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder; his neck beautifully elongated and his hips guiding Castiel’s into wide figure eights. Unable to tell which was beating faster the bass music or his heart, Castiel lost himself to the rhythm Dean set, letting his hands roam naturally over the contours of his partner’s gift from the God's body. As Dean raised a hand, he tangled his fingers into the soft strands at the back of Castiel’s head. </p><p>Fuck. Mission. They were on a mission, Castiel self-chided; half stopping himself from sending up a thank you prayer for this blissful, yet utterly torturous situation. Especially when he felt Dean shudder against him as he vice-gripped his hip and let out a breath of hot air against Dean’s neck. As much as he wanted to have Dean in his arms like this forever, they were working, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult not to have an inappropriate erection while his partner artfully sashayed ground his firm ass against him which he could bounce a quarter off of.</p><p>Breathing in Dean’s cologne wafting from his neck, Castiel tried to focus. But instead of scanning the guards, he was scanning every inch of Dean’s broad chest and tantalizing waist. He never thought himself a selfish man; not until Dean Winchester bull-in-a-china-shopped his way into his life. For a couple of moments, he selfishly enjoyed Dean—his moan worthy spicy scent, his lean body underneath wandering fingers, his gorgeous freckles glistening off and on as the spotlights circled above them. </p><p>A throat cleared. Both men ignored the second and third throats clearing, while still chasing constant physical contact until “You realize I can see you right?” Sam’s voice sounded a mixture of horrified and strained. “Trust me when I say, I am the only one subjecting my poor eyes to your dance floor sex torture. So if you're done trying to gross everyone out, can we finish what we came here to do?” </p><p>“Way to be a buzzkill, bitch.” Dean’s voice sounded huskier than usual. </p><p>“You’re paying for my therapy after this jerk,” Sam retorted, “By my estimates you have three minutes before they change guards again, put a wiggle in it. Charlie can only fake laugh her way through a conversation for so much time, guys.” </p><p> An <em>okay</em> leaves Dean's mouth as he spins himself in Castiel’s hold so they are pressed chest to chest; for the nth time tonight, Castiel felt stunned by his partner’s easy beauty. </p><p>“Ready to nab us a bad guy?” Dean teased, flashing his <em>I’m about to do something stupid</em> smile. Seeing that particular smile felt like having a bucket of cold water poured on him during a hot shower. </p><p>Castiel nodded. “Of course.” </p><p>Slinging an arm around his shoulders so they are still pressed close, Dean led them through the crowd heading to their hallway destination. “Act like I said something funny.” Dean leaned in, acting in a way Castiel has only seen when Dean has drowned three or four beers yet he immediately compiled, chuckling as to not raise suspicion as they break away from the horde. </p><p>Looking side to side, the coast was clear as they dove into the hallway dropping their pretense of whatever was simmering between them. Castiel straightened his suit as they got partially down the hallway when Sam’s panicked, urgent voice warned, “Shit, incoming guys; the last guard posted turned back around; man must have some intuition or something.”</p><p>Before his brain could process the implications of its decision, Castiel crowded his partner against the wall. His hands already reaching for Dean’s stubble when he whispered, “Do you trust me?” </p><p>With wide, yet trusting eyes and lips slightly parted, Dean nodded reading his intentions like an open book. Cupping both sides of his partner’s face, Castiel drew Dean in until their lips met. For all the hurriedness the situation demanded, the kiss was anything but rushed. Lips slid against each other while Dean slid down the wall allowing Castiel a better angle to better dominate the kiss. It felt like more than trust, it felt like every ounce of tension built between crumpled into brushing noses and consumed soft breaths. If he could, Castiel would bottle this moment, proudly display it on a shelf and let the world know he made Dean gasp when he sunk his teeth into his partner’s bottom lip. <em>Partner</em>, the word nagged, reminding him this kiss was an excuse, a distraction. </p><p>Dean’s soft whine covered the sound of the footsteps they were expecting. Later there would be time to recall every single second of this, recall the rapid beating of his heart, recall the feeling of falling yet flying simultaneously but right now they had a pest to deal with.</p><p>A rough, “What are you doing back here,” managed to break them apart. </p>
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</div><p>“A little busy here buddy,” Dean said with a breathlessness Castiel secretly prided himself on causing. And then warm hands were squeezing his hips and even warmer lips were pressed against his once more giving as good as they got.</p><p>“Alright, it’s time for you to leave,” the threat evident as Castiel dislodged himself from his partner to stare down the rather angry guard stalking towards them. He needed him a little bit closer.</p><p>“Why don’t you make us,” Dean goaded with an eyebrow wiggle. The guard was a bigger man, Dean’s height with a rock-solid muscle build—nothing he hadn’t seen before or couldn’t handle. </p><p>Cas saw the trajectory of the guards right hand from a mile away. Before it clapped onto Dean’s left shoulder, Cas's left hand shot across Dean's chest and intercepted it, skillfully bending the middle finger inward at the knuckle pressure point. Ever see a brick on legs suddenly freeze, then pirouette on his tippy-toes like a ballerina? Yeah, it looked like that. His face immediately scrunched into a painful grimace and a bellowing grunt exited from the pit of his stomach.</p><p>But Einstein was no quitter, much to his own detriment. His attempt at an uppercut was curtailed by Cas blocking his fist with his right, then his left releasing Einstein's first offending appendage so he could place his open palm in the center of Dean's broad chest. With lightning speed, Cas pushed him out of the path of Einstein's dim-witted flailing so as to avoid any crossfire. Once Dean was clear of the roundhouse radius, Cas's left hand then fluidly darted across himself to block the uppercut the shocked guard had been shooting for but failed to execute. Cas took the guard's momentum, pulled his fist out in front of him, then did what the guy least expected. Still holding his hand, he twirled into him like a famed dance move, closing the distance between them. Once safely tucked into the guard's left side he slithered his arm under his armpit and bent down to lower his center of gravity while kicking backward, sweeping the guy's knees out from under him. </p><p>Guard dog damn near broke the dance floor slamming his ass to the ground so hard. Quickly, Cas yanked the guard's arm across his chest, turning him over. His knee firmly pressed into his spine while folding his arm tightly in a painful upwards motion so the back of his hand smashed flat in between his shoulder blades. There was no question that Cas had full control of him, he could've done untold damage with his knee digging into his lumbar region and his arm inches away from dislocating. And yet Cas demonstrated grace by asking for a clear yield. </p><p>The guard grunted a satisfactory "yes" and Cas immediately hopped up and backed away in a defensive stance, waiting for the man to honor his word. The second he was up he pivoted with a raised elbow which Cas smacked away. The guard was shaken by his speed and even more when finding a foot to the chest. Cas grabbed handfuls of his shirt fabric before bouncing up once with his right foot and then sliding it between the guard's legs with his body while his planted foot gave him the leverage to hurl the assholes entire form up and over his own bodies still downward sliding form against the dancefloor. Cas heard the guy crashing behind him, yet years of practice already had him on his knees and back up into another defensive stance should this guy need further education. </p><p>Once more the brick with legs keened but managed to stand, ready for a third round. The guard was risking himself for stubborn pride and now risking others. Cas was done playing games. Strike three and this tool would need a pancake flipper to peel his Rip Van Winkle ass off the floor. It was too easy. Cas knew his bell was rung from his previous sacrifice art, so at least he was eliminating the harm to others who simply hoped for an innocent night out. </p><p>The guy couldn't even lunge at him straight. Easy prey. Electing for a shoulder throw nicknamed "the Zombie", Cas closed the distance once more and planted his right foot across both of the guards, raised his hands and tightly gripped the fabric on his right shoulder and right elbow before turning and simultaneously lifting the guy's body over his own right shoulder so he was hanging over him like some undead limp asshole. The remainder of the art was to thoroughly slam his body to the groundbreaking bone in the process. As the massive thud shook the floor and killed the lights, Cas stepped back with no measure of satisfaction at having to hurt someone because of their blatant stupidity.</p><p>“Damn Feathers,” Dean commented from the sidelines as he rifled through the unconscious man’s pockets finding a ring with a few keys inside the right pants pocket—bingo, or as Dean liked to say, Yahtzee.  </p><p>Holding up the keys for Dean to take, Castiel stood following Dean to the office door. Time was of the essence now, too many factors actively working against them—the knocked-out guard wouldn’t go unnoticed for long, Charlie’s nonexistent flirting skills, Sam’s lack of surveillance from inside the office. It only took Dean two tries to get the door opened. </p><p>
  <em>Five minutes.</em>
</p><p>Falling back on his training, Castiel gave them five minutes to search before they needed to vacate the premises. </p><p>The office resembled Balthazar himself. An oversized oak desk at right in the middle with one cushy reclining chair positioned behind it showing only one man really mattered in the room; the man who sat behind the desk. Each back corner had its own camera and one pointed directly at the desk and the other angled slightly towards the filing cabinet situated off to the side but behind the man <em>who thinks he owns the world</em> desk. </p><p>Dean went for the desk while he opted for the filing cabinet, both of them rifling through everything they could. </p><p>
  <em>Three minutes.</em>
</p><p>Something caught his attention, the folder in Castiel’s hand contained a series of paper rent bills for a building; judging by the address the building was more likely a boat warehouse. A club owner had no need for a shipping warehouse, unless he was involved in the drug trade and used it to move merchandise who knows where under the radar. </p><p>
  <em>One minute. </em>
</p><p>He pocketed one of the bills, knowing sometimes answers only led to more questions. “We need to go,” Castiel said with no room for argument. Hopefully, Charlie could dig up dirt on this warehouse when they were back at their makeshift home base. </p><p>“Sam, start the van we are heading your way,” Castiel said, walking back towards the normal club activities stepping over the guard he subdued with Dean following right behind him.</p><p>“Roger,” Sam responded over the earpiece, “Find anything?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” he answered honestly before he said, “Charlie time to excuse yourself.”</p><p>A soft, “Finally,” resounded through the earpiece right as a shout carried over the music followed by the sight of a plum dress cascading down metal stairs. </p><p>The next few minutes happened in a blur, mostly due to the amount of sprinting involved. Even on wobbly feet, Charlie was incredibly quick,  not stopping for a second as she blew past them at the bar, heading for the exit. The commotion coming from the VIP section caused a stir, shifting the attention of the club-goers from their activities to the screams echoing from the VIP section. He bumped into a few people, but his focus was getting everyone out safely. Following on Charlie’s heels, Castiel peeked over his shoulder making sure Dean was right behind him as they barreled right past the front entrance bouncer shouting to the all-white van sporting Singer’s Auto stickers pulling up to the curb. Dean managed to throw the door open while Charlie and Castiel climbed in and Sam sped off with Dean giving the “Hey, stop!” bouncer a cocky two-finger salute goodbye as he rolled the door closed. </p><p>By the time he'd caught his breath, their little team was halfway back to Gabriel’s apartment. Charlie dissolved into giggles, recounting her Balthazar experience with a complimentary ridiculous British accent and overly dramatic hand movements that put Shakespearian actors to shame. Hearing how Charlie threw her drink on Balthazar’s quote on quote “Handmade Gucci” suit as an exit strategy, helped transition the lingering adrenaline in the van into post-mission relaxation. This investigation might be far from over, but the invoice and possible clue burning a hole in his pocket along with the gentle smiles of his colleagues felt like a leap in the right direction. </p><p>Relief throughout the team was palpable as they piled inside the apartment—Charlie, more than ready to soak her aching feet, grumbled about the atrocious heels while she pitter-pattered her way to bed. Sam commented under his breath about erasing the last four hours from his memory as he strode off to his bedroom, and that left Castiel rock-paper-scissoring Dean for the last bed, again.</p><p>Except this time, he knew he’d let Dean win. Although, after their fake not so fake kiss, he’d much rather share the bed. Partner. He could feel the blush creep up his neck from the implications of his thoughts as he threw paper letting Dean win because Dean always throws scissors. He should not be thinking about his partner in such ways, but the phantom sensation of those warm lips crushed against his own haunted him. Dean hooped and hollered like a ‘gracious’ winner over finally defeating Cas in a round; a pity pat landed on his shoulder as Dean winked, “Better luck next buddy,” before sauntering off to the bedroom. </p><p>Flinging himself on the couch, he swore his lips still tingled; were still kiss-swollen from Dean’s nibbling. His fingers moved as if they had a mind of their own, touching his lips gingerly. Castiel shook his head. Dean was probably unplagued by their impromptu kiss, thinking the whole earth-shattering situation on Castiel’s end was nothing more than what it was—a means to an end, a small kiss to distract the guard. Settling more comfortably, he pushed tonight’s events from his mind; they had bigger things to worry about than his inappropriate growing feelings for his partner. </p><p>Castiel closed his eyes with the hope that tomorrow with four sets of fresh eyes and a hunch on the invoice would be enough to crack this case wide open. </p><p>And if his dreams were filled with snarky green eyes and lips so delicious, they could make an angel sin, it was no one’s business but his own.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>7 Chapters for a single kiss? ARE YOU CRAZY? (hides from angry readers). Keep going I promise it is worth it. (winky face)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Trouble Is Spelled Warehouse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter Warning: Drugged Castiel; Dean believes in consent. Maybe Dub-Con. NSWF Art</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">Chapter 7: Trouble Is Spelled Warehouse</div>
</h3><p>Yeah, Dean knew Cas totally let him win at rock-paper-scissors. Fucker threw the game without a thought of hesitation; dude hasn’t even looked at him since they left the club. </p><p>Covering up his growing irritation, he gave Cas a <em>sorry not sorry you lost buddy</em> pat on the shoulder and headed for the memory foam bed (sue him for being excited for the luxury his back was about to experience after sleeping on the fucking couch). </p><p>Well, he thought the wonderful squishy support underneath him would knock his ass right out but here he was strumming his fingers against his sternum like he was plucking a six-string. Irked didn’t begin to cover the thoughts clouding his mind and keeping him from sleep. </p><p>Cas didn’t have the right to be mad at him about the kiss, the kiss was <em>his</em> idea! And it’s not like it sucked. On the contrary, it might have been the shortest yet most life-changing kiss in Dean’s life. Dean was expecting a peck on the lips, not the suck your soul out through your mouth kiss he received. Trust him, he’s not complaining except now with the knowledge that Cas dominates kisses like he dominates in any fight he’s ever been in, being Cas’s partner just became the seven circles of hell. </p><p>Rolling over and shoving his face into a pillow, Dean groaned. Who the hell taught such a dork to pour <em>it’s the last night on earth</em> passion into a kiss and how does Dean fucking shake their hand? </p><p>Fuck. Knowing his partner, he probably didn’t spare the moment a second thought; lips smashing lips distraction, all a part of the mission—nothing more, nothing less. And the kiss he initiated after they broke apart, well he’ll just chalk that up to a heat of the moment bonus. </p><p>Ugh, this case, it was getting to him. </p><p>He nuzzled deeper into the pillow trying for the tenth time to find a comfortable position. Maybe if Cas hadn’t seemed so butt hurt over his own damn distraction idea, maybe Dean would have offered to share the bed instead of fighting to find a comfy spot on the oversized mattress.</p><p>How was he supposed to sleep when he could still feel his partner’s lips on his own? Resigned to his fate of sleeping with a half hard-on for his partner in an empty bed, Dean rolled over twice more and sighed deeply. He knew they were close, so close to blowing this case wide open; it would make not only his career but Sam’s as well. And with Dick behind bars Charlie would be safe and free to go back to be the queen of Moondor (and if Dean happened to end up larping a weekend after all this is over, he’d blame Charlie for all the gushing she’s done. Plus, who doesn’t love a knight leading troops into battle with a moving and inspiring speech). The job came first, he hadn’t come this far, worked his dick into the dirt day in and day out, showed everyone in the station his promotion was earned not given, to let it slip through his fingers over a blossoming crush on Castiel Novak, his fucking partner of all people. </p><p>He stuffed his feelings into neat little boxes and shoved those boxes into the furthest, darkest corners of his mind. </p><p>Tomorrow, he told himself; tomorrow he’d throw a cover over those boxes and let them collect dust, solve the case and get back to normal. Tonight though, tonight he’d indulge just a bit; letting his dreams run wild, all revolving Cas—the sharpness of his hips, the tartness of his lips, and the bruising strength of his grip. </p><p> Yeah, tomorrow could wait.</p><p>Only much to Dean’s dismay, tomorrow waited for no one. </p><p>Sunshine lit up the room to signal it was morning. With a groan, Dean swung his legs over the side and headed to the kitchen to find some much-needed caffeine.</p><p>With a little digging through the documents on the flash drive, Charlie was able to connect the invoice Cas found with some corresponding rent receipts and other sales documents. Looking at the connecting documents and following their trail, Charlie produced an address for the warehouse.</p><p>Thankful for the welcome distraction, Dean threw himself headfirst into the new lead. Anything to occupy his mind on work rather than his work partner and their stupid not-kiss, kiss. </p><p>In order to stay sane and for the sake of the case the next couple of days were spent doing some surveillance on the warehouse. Call it a chip on shoulder but Dean took a little pride in the fact he was rubbing off on his partner because his partner had trusted his gut instinct on this place; and Cas’s gut was turning out to be right. Armed guards wandered the grounds of the warehouse every fifteen minutes. Something was being moved in and out of the building; something highly illegal and valuable if Dean was betting. They would need more firepower than their miniature swat if they were going inside the building; they needed to call in reinforcements, which meant breaking their radio silence and calling Bobby. </p><p>If being a really big IF, they were wrong,  raiding the building and turning up bupkis would blow their covers, Sam and Charlie would both be in jeopardy. Who knew Dick’s reach? And Sam still hadn’t discovered the leak in the Attorney’s office. After a round table discussion about their findings on the warehouse, Dick, Balthazar, and the way they all came together like a Thomas Kinkade puzzle, the team agreed the reward would be worth the risk. </p><p>Setting up the raid took one call with no more explanation than, “Bobby, we need to put together a raid party.” With a grumbled <em>Boy I swear you’re going to give me a hernia someday</em>, they set the raid at night in two days’ time after hashing a few plan details and time arrangements. After hanging up, Dean felt giddy and anxious all at once. Raids were one of the fun perks of the job, and with chasing after these dickbags he hasn’t seen a raid in close to a year. But on the flip side of the coin, raids were notoriously dangerous even in full gear. The gamble of never knowing what they were walking into. The top of the danger sundae 99% of the time was, the bad guys had guns and they always shot back. Even with all the life-threatening risks, Dean wasn’t afraid; he’d have Cas watching his back and the opportunity to hopefully end this.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Warehouse: 5 minutes Before the Raid</p>
</div><hr class="hr"/>
<p></p><div class="center"></div>“Alright listen up shitheads,” Dean said, pulling down on his ballistic vest while addressing the other members of the party, “we go in quiet; I want a full sweep. Follow the plan and we all get to go home and jerk off tonight.”<p>“Feathers, I want you on my six.” Dean pointed and continued when his partner nodded in agreeance, “If you assholes are ready, let’s get this party started.” Dean smiled, slamming down the screen on his face shield. The fifteen men on the raiding team were all dressed in standard black utility uniforms, their ballistic vests sported POLICE, and each man was armed with an M4, flashbangs, and tear gas grenades. </p><p>Fifteen sets of footsteps padded softer than a kitten upon the warehouse with Dean leading the charge. He signaled to those behind to begin the split. The party split seamlessly into three groups of five in order to cover all the entrances and exits. Once the parties were waiting outside their targeted locations, flashbangs were rolled inside, and then like a tornado in the middle of a thunderstorm, they'd descended on the warehouse through the lingering flashbang smoke.</p><p>The sharp sound of bullets rang throughout his ears, but his team kept their V formation tight while moving swiftly through the warehouse; firing or disarming the enemy guards as they swept the building. He held up his hand in a fist to signal a stop then motioned for his party to keep pressing further in while he and Cas went up the stairs to search the office. With a nod from his team, Dean started up the stairs with Cas covering his back weapon at the ready. </p><p>Quick and efficient, Dean pulled open the office door while Cas entered. The office was empty but to air on the side of caution Dean kept his weapon pointed and ready at the door. His radio chimed, “All Clear,” and Dean lowered his weapon. Turning, the office was sparse—one desk with six bricks of possible uncut cocaine or ecstasy on top and one filing cabinet in the back corner. They interrupted whatever fun shindig was happening here and Dean didn’t feel a bit bad about it. </p><p>Circling the table, his partner had already started leafing through the desk coming up with a huge leather-bound journal. Gotta love a good ole fashion drug lord keeping only hand-written a transaction log, and boy was it a jackpot. Cas handed him the journal and went to inspect the filing cabinet. Some of the names listed in the book were like Sam suspected, high profile individuals in Miami—CEO’s, prolific politicians, and prominent figures in the city—all listed on the journal’s pages with their picture and purchase order. </p><p>Cas must have found nothing in the cabinet for he was back by Dean’s side after a minute. His partner picked up a white-powdered filled brick, half-way flipping up his face shield to inspect the brick more closely while Dean continued flipping through the blacklist journal. It also included inside locally known drug dealers, club owners, small business owners, and some people Dean had no clue about but were going on the arrest list regardless. The journal in his hands would be priceless to a criminal, no sane drug lord would leave something this valuable behind. </p><p>And as the thought flitted through his mind…</p><p>White clouded his vision followed by the unmistakable sound of a round being popped off. </p><p>“GET DOWN,” Dean screamed, throwing himself to the floor behind the desk. FUCK! The warehouse was supposed to be cleared. Instincts kicking in, Dean waited.</p><p>Round two was shot off, round three, round four….</p><p>There!</p><p>The pause Dean was waiting for. Popping up from the desk, Dean rapidly fired two bullets straight into the fucker’s chest; the guy sank to the floor faster than a bag full of bricks falling from the building's rooftop.  </p><p>Only as his breath started to slow did it pick back up again.</p><p><em>Cas</em>.</p><p>Where the fuck was his partner? </p><p>The white cloud must have been the bag of powder Cas was holding. Heart racing, Dean whipped around searching the floor. Cas was sitting up against the desk, but from the angle, Dean was looking at him it was hard to tell if he had been shot. </p><p>
  <em>Please don’t be dead.</em>
</p><p>“Clear?” The word sounded slightly slurred but thank fuck for the beautiful bravado of Cas’ voice. His partner eyed him, waiting for an answer. </p><p>“Yeah, Feathers.” Swallowing his tongue, Dean offered his hand to his partner; helping the other man to his feet. Once on his feet, Dean couldn’t help but laugh at the stark white covering Cas head to toe, “Dude you look like a frat boy who partied hardied with both hands.” Luckily, it looked like the face mask had been down, so surely his partner was okay, Dean reasoned. </p><p>“Thought the building was—” Cas sneezed like a mouse once, twice, three times before he managed to get the word, “Clear” out. For as manly as his partner was, his sneezes were the <em>cutest</em> shit. Little kids had deeper sounding sneezes than his partner, so Dean really can’t be blamed for the damn shriek of laughter he let out or the belly-bellow laugh at Cas’s scowl. </p><p>Shaking himself like a wet dog, Cas said, “Very funn—ACHOO, achoo…achoo—” Cas sneezed in tiny bunny-like rapid-fire successions. </p><p>Dean kept chuckling at the whole scene, he was totally going to use this moment to blackmail his partner for months, hell probably years. He was going to have to get Cas to sneeze more often, he thought while speaking into his radio, “Office is clear, call the Captain and get the crime unit down here to process the scene and evidence.” He waited for the 10-4 before making an <em>after you princess</em> gesture at his partner towards the door. </p><p>Within minutes the warehouse was surrounded by police vehicles, a fire truck, an ambulance, and of course the coroner. Eyeing Cas, “You Good?” Dean asked.</p><p>With a dramatic but signature Cas eye-roll, “Yes,” and with that response, Dean parted with his partner to search through the crowd. </p><p>He handed Bobby the blacklist journal directly, not trusting anyone but the Captain with the priceless information and secrets held within its pages. </p><p>The gruff, older man accepted the bound book with a huff, “Boy, I hope this was worth all of this.” He waved at the red and blue flashing lights and the scattered multi-department individuals running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off. </p><p>“Trust me, this—” he pointed at the journal, “It's worth every risk, I hope you nail every fucking scum bag in this bad boy.” </p><p>Bobby nodded, gripping the journal a bit more tightly as if knowing the weight it carried inside would cause it to slip through fingers. “Good work, I haven’t gotten the official count, but we’ve found there’s pounds of drugs and contraband.” </p><p>Dean beamed underneath the praise, but he wouldn’t be here without his partner. “It wasn’t just me Bobby, the warehouse was Cas’s hunch and Charlie’s research and we would be none the wiser without Sam’s backbone to hunt the monsters of this city.”</p><p>“That’s just like you boy, can’t take a damn compliment,” Bobby said, shaking his head in his usual <em>you are ridiculous boy</em> way. “Take your partner and go check on that little team of yours, I think all these ass clowns can handle it here.” Dean didn’t need to be told twice and as he started walking to the last place he saw Cas, Bobby called to his back, “And I expect to have a report on my desk!”</p><p>Dean gave a two-finger salute in return and jogged off to find his partner. Sue him for being personally excited for a hot shower, some soft yet not so soft teasing on his partner, and a cold beer. Finding his partner was easy, Dean could spot Cas’s perpetual bad helmet hair anywhere.</p><p>“Feathers!” Cas slowly turned around with a tilt of his head like it was the first time he was hearing the nickname. Weird. He probably just couldn’t hear Dean over all the combined noises. Striding right up into Cas’s personal bubble just to make sure his partner could hear him clearly, “Let’s roll buddy, Bobby gave us the go-ahead to blow this popsicle stand.” </p><p>“Do I get to pick a flavor?” Cas asked with a twinge of excitement. </p><p>“Uh, maybe a flavor of beer. Come on, I want some sleep before Bobby changes his damn mind and we're up paperwork creek without a paddle.” Without even thinking Dean grabbed Cas’s wrist and started dragging him towards Baby. Dean had parked her a couple of blocks from the warehouse because he still firmly believed in not being caught dead in a police cruiser and Cas was still on the hunt for a new vehicle since the last Porsche shot up during their car transporter chase—damn, that chase felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t realized he had dragged Cas by his wrist to the car until Baby was physically right there, her chrome door handle mere centimeters from his grasp. </p><p>Dropping Cas’s wrist like a hot potato, Dean was thankful for the helmet shielding the light flush he felt in his cheeks. </p><p>Cas slightly stumbled around the front of the car, weird. Must be the adrenaline drop, Dean surmised; he sometimes got a bit woozy after near-death experiences too. </p><p>“Your car,” Cas spoke with a smirk, drumming his finger on top of Baby’s hood, “is very sexy.” </p><p>“Yeah yeah, quit be chummy over a job well-done and get in the fucking car Feathers,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as he reached up to unclip his chin strap and remove his helmet. Of course, Baby was sexy; he received compliments on her all the time just never from his partner, and no he wasn’t jealous of his car of all things. </p><p>“Sexy, sexy, sexy,” Cas chanted as he climbed into Baby with a silly voice Dean had <em>never</em> heard and he’s spent every minute with the guy since they’ve become partners. Dean shook his head and climbed in after Cas, tossing his helmet into the back seat ready to go back to their mini home base and get out of these heavy ass ballistic clothing. </p><p>Having started Baby and throwing her in drive, Cas had the same idea about the heavy clothing as Dean did and Dean was not prepared for Cas to start shedding clothing in his passenger seat when Dean peeked over at him. </p><p>“Dude, what the fuck?” Because seriously what the fuck? Cas was weird most days, social norms weren’t really his thing but ever since after the raid, even by normal Cas standards, the dude was being extra weird.</p><p>“Is hot,” his partner replied in a long drawn out whiney voice while un-velcroing his vest and tossing it in the back seat. So, was Dean supposed to take “is hot” as an answer as to why he had his own personal strip show in his car now? </p><p>“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, swerving back into his lane trying to keep his eyes on the road, not on the miles of tan chest bared right next to him. Nope. He was not going to pull the cover off those boxes in the back of his mind, no sir. Cas is feathers, his partner—his ridiculously attractive, half-naked partner—who seemed to be stroking Baby’s leather lovingly and lolling his head side to side. </p><p>Something was wrong. </p><p>Dean pulled into the nearest empty parking lot, ready to get to the bottom of his partner’s actions, “Hey, what is going on with you?” </p><p>Cas only hummed in response to the question; continuing his ministrations. </p><p>“Buddy are you okay?” Worry flooded his brain, Cas always retorted or grunted or huffed. After a few seconds of receiving nothing in return, Dean lost his cool. “Look at me!”</p><p>His partner’s eyes fluttered open to reveal the usual baby blues looking like they took two shots of jalapeño juice straight to iris’s—red, splotchy, and watery. The usual disapproving scowl replaced with an eye-crinkling, gummy smile. Cas as a whole right now reminded Dean of the sun, if the sun smoked stockpiles of weed. Seeing the bloodshot eyes and the weird lax easiness of his posture, all added up to one thing—Cas was high; high as a fucking kite. His brain worked overtime supplying the facts his mouth couldn’t muster; Cas had his face shield up when the bag exploded in his face, he must have inhaled some during the whole encounter or when he had his rabbit seizure sneezes.</p><p>Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. </p><p>Cas eyes closed again while his head basically rolled to one side. Worry bled into a blind panic; Dean swatted at Cas’s cheek trying to get him to open his eyes again, “Hey, hey stay with me!”</p><p>Thankfully, Cas furrowed his brow and clicked his tongue cracking open his eyes and staring at an unnerving softness followed by an even softer, “Freckles.”</p><p>“I’m here Feathers, I need you to keep your eyes open; okay?” Cas nodded, reaching up and stroking Dean’s cheek with the back of his hand. Dean snatched his wrist while rumbling for his cell phone in his pocket. He needed to call Bobby.</p><p>The phone clicked through after the second ring and a gruff, “Boy do you not—”</p><p>“Bobby,” Dean cut in, “Cas inhaled some of whatever was on the desk, he’s high as the goddamn Chrysler building.”</p><p>“Shit, not hundred percent sure son but we think it’s just regular ecstasy not cut in with whatever agent they were planning on using.”</p><p>“What the fuck do I do?!” Dean exasperated.</p><p>“Take a breath boy, he’s going to need water. Keep him hydrated and keep him cool so he doesn’t overheat and get him to a hospital if you can,” Bobby said more of a command than a statement. </p><p>“Yes sir,” Dean hung up, sliding across the bench seat back to the driver’s area. “It’s going to be okay, we are going to get you to a hospital and—”</p><p>“NO!” Cas exclaimed, clutching at Dean in any way he could. “No hospitals, take me home.”</p><p>“No, we are going to get you some help,” Dean peeled his partner’s grabby hands off him. </p><p>“No, take me home.” Cas pouted. Fucking pouted while pawing at Dean. </p><p>“Hospital,” Dean gritted through his teeth ready to five-point racing harness his partner to the damn seat if he needed to. </p><p>“HOME!” </p><p>“NO!”</p><p>“Take me home now,” Cas said the icy tone in his voice enough to garner Dean’s attention. </p><p>“Look buddy you aren’t in good shape,” Dean tried to reason with the grumpy, arguing toddler occupying his passenger seat.</p><p>“Take me home or I’ll do it myself,” And by the time Dean looked over Cas was already reaching to open the car door. Holy shit. Crazy fucker was about to open the door and jump out of the car. </p><p>“Okay!” Dean yelled, grabbing onto whatever limb of his partner’s he could reach safely and still drive. “I’ll take you home, just fucking sit there until we get there.”</p><p>Asshole had the audacity to wear a smug smile while settling back into the leather bench seat. Cas was lucky he wasn’t in his right mind because Dean had the right mind to punch his lights out and forcibly drag his unconscious body to the hospital for this little stunt. </p><p>Gritting his teeth and keeping one hand death-gripped to Cas’s thigh, because any higher his fingers would be skimming across acres of tan skin, Dean kept his word and drove them to Cas’ apartment. Jesus, for being model skinny and built, Cas was fucking <em>heavy</em>. Hauling his half-naked ass into the building left Dean more breathless than the entire raid did. The doorman wasn’t fazed by the scene of Cas shirtless, being hastily hauled into the building by Dean. He gave a small, knowing smirk and waved at them as they headed to the elevators. </p><p>Was the elevator always this slow? The numbers seemed to climb slowly like they were counting 10 Mississippi’s between each one. Finally, the doors dinged open and Dean readjusted his grip in order to carry his partner better. Christ on a cracker, the first thing they would need to do is get Cas some water; dude was burning up, his skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. </p><p>Adjusting the dead weight attached to him again, Dean fumbled around his pockets for his keys; patting himself on the back for asking (or nagging as Sam said) his partner into giving him a spare key to his apartment. It was a good thing to have in case of emergency type situations and it’s not like Dean didn’t practically live at his partner’s place. Shoving the door open after successfully unlocking it one-handed, a wave of nostalgia hit him. The loft was meticulously clean (not one coffee cup in sight). It’s been too long since they’ve been home, Dean thought. </p><p>Dumping his human-sized sack of potatoes on the couch, Dean moved through the space to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water with familiar ease yet with haste. Cas could grumble at him later for using tap water. </p><p>“Alright buddy, we need to keep you hydrated and the first sign of trouble I’m knocking your ass out cold and taking you to the damn hospital,” Dean said, lifting the glass of water to Cas’ lips. Instinctively, Cas began drinking, gulping down the liquid as fast as Dean would let him. After the second round of water, Cas seemed much more coherent but still very…silly. And still very warm, his unruly hair curling from the sweat beading on his forehead. </p><p>Cold. Dean switched gears after another half glass of water; he needed to get Cas’s body temp down <em>now</em>. Pulling the other man to his feet, Dean led him down the hallway and pushed open Cas’ bedroom door, heading straight to the master bathroom. He flipped down the toilet seat cover and sat Cas down before sliding open the glass shower door and flicking on the cold water. Dean shivered as the freezing water sputtered on and he cursed himself for his hard-wired habit of sticking his hand in the water to test the temperature. </p><p>Suppressing another shiver because honestly fuck cold water, showers are meant to be enjoyed skin-melting hot. Turning back to his decreasing less vegetable-like partner, whom he abandoned on the toilet and was currently examining the roll of toilet paper like it was Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, Dean internally screamed in the form of a soft exhaled sigh. He scrubbed a hand down his face; he really hadn’t thought this plan all the way through. </p><p><em>He could die if you don’t get under the cool water</em>, his moral compass yelled over his holy shit you have to get Cas naked panic scream. <em>Well maybe Cas could do it himself</em>, Dean reasoned with himself right up until his very traitor brain reminded him, he basically carried Cas into the apartment so undressing himself was probably out of the question at the moment. <em>Suck it up Winchester, your partner needs you.</em></p><p>Resigning himself to his fate, Dean stepped closer to Cas. “Alright buddy, we gotta cool you down,” Dean said, approaching slowly unsure if Cas was going to fight him like an uncooperative, menacing three-year-old. A flashback of when Sam was a baby popped into his mind and if his memory served him right; wrestling his little brother into clothes was just as hard as wrestling him out of them. </p><p>Cas tilted his head up at Dean, squinting his eyes as if to discern the reason why Dean was currently hovering in his space. Even loosey-goosey, somethings about Cas never change. </p><p>“I’m going to help you stand and we are going to get you in the cold water okay?” Dean said, not so much a question but to let Cas know he wasn't trying to violate him,  but trying to help. Sober Cas was going to owe Dean a month of burgers, no a month worth of massages, no a big ass truckload of new flannel shirts for helping with this mess. Really looking over his partner, Dean noticed some of the white returning to Cas’s eyes; thank goodness. Cas gave him a Flash from Zootopia sloth nod in response and with a silent prayer for strength, Dean hauled Cas up by his belt loops. </p><p>You’d think Dean had never operated a zipper or pants button before by the way his fingers were fumbling. A hearty chuckle made the tips of Dean’s ears turn pink. “I’m glad you think this is funny; better laugh it up now because you are so going to owe me for this.” Cas smiled at this threat like he was a tiny barking teacup chihuahua. Fucker. </p><p>Finally, after silently declaring to set the pants on fucking fire they decided to cooperate, and Dean managed to free Cas from their confines. </p><p>Orange.</p><p>What was with Cas and orange fucking boxer briefs? Not that they didn’t sculpt and look downright haven’t eaten all day, sit down for Thanksgiving dinner drool-worthy, but seriously why orange?</p><p>“Dude, do you only own orange underwear?” The question slipped from his tongue before he could bite it back. </p><p>Humming, Cas said, “Orange is my lucky color.” Cas spoke slowly as if each word needed a bit of attention before being spoken aloud. </p><p>Dean rolled his eyes; what a freaking dork. Only Cas would have a lucky color of freaking underwear. “Well, they weren’t really lucky tonight, huh.”</p><p>“I’m not dead, just…” Cas trailed, losing interest in his sentence while bringing his arms up to grip Dean’s biceps. </p><p>“Drugged Cas, you didn’t catch a bullet, but you are fucked up right now.” Dean reminded him with an edge to voice which could easily cut through a raw potato. For a half millisecond, tonight Dean’s soul left his body when he heard the shot echo through the office and didn’t see what happened to his partner; nights like tonight are exactly the reason he didn’t want a partner to begin with. He didn’t want this hopeless personal attachment he had gained for his stoic yet dorky, trench coat donning, badass-in-a-fight but rusty people skills, partner. He grew up watching Bobby mourn the loss of his father, mourning the loss of an irreplaceable hole in his life; it tore Bobby apart. And while Bobby turned out to be an amazing adoptive father, Dean learned a valuable lesson the day his father died. When a cop partner dies, you better dig two graves. Thus, Dean <em>vowed</em> to himself to never become attached to someone in such a way, fucking swore to himself he’d never have a partner; be a solo detective act for as long as the force would have him.</p><p>Yet, here he was hooking his thumbs into Cas’s waistband of orange underwear to help his <em>partner</em> into a cold shower to counteract the drugs the dumbass somehow managed to inhale during the raid. And the worst part of it all, Dean was fucking thankful—thankful Cas was alive and warm, a little too warm but he was going to fix that. So fucking thankful for all the times Cas has saved his ass over the last six months, thankful to have someone to bounce theories and ideas off of, thankful to have someone who could finally put up with all bullshit (Because honestly, Dean knew he was more than a handful to handle). </p><p>Somehow, someway Cas had managed to change Dean’s perspective on the whole partner situation. Because now, Dean couldn’t imagine his life without Cas as his partner—hell he couldn’t imagine his life without Cas’s snarky, nagging ass period. So, for a half millisecond tonight when he saw Cas slumped against the desk, Dean’s entire world shrank down to the size of the world’s smallest violin and his heart only started beating once again when he found Cas was a-okay; well at least alive. </p><p>Tomorrow all this would be a great, tease worthy memory and their solid partnership they’ve managed to build despite Dean’s bullheadedness wouldn’t suffer from Dean’s momentarily staring at his partner’s rather <em>sizable</em> junk. Also, this close Dean could tell Cas shaved, not waxed, which was still respectable. And scraping any other lingering inappropriate thought, Dean maneuvered Cas into the bristling cold water. </p><p>Or he attempted to. </p><p>Asshole had locked onto him and vehemently shaking his head no. Not wanting to get violent with his partner, Dean resorted to his only other option—pleading. </p><p>“Come on man, we need to get you cool,” Dean said, trying to gently shove Cas into the shower. Dude was like a damn cat, a very naked cat mind you, avoiding getting in the water. </p><p>“Get in with me, I won’t get in unless you do,” Cas said, with wide eyes and an innocence Dean didn’t know the other man possessed. As if to emphasize his point, Cas tugged lightly on Dean’s arms. </p><p>If Dean thought his soul left his body earlier than he was surely dead now. Just the image of Cas’s lithe runner’s body dripping with water was enough to send any man into an early grave. Maybe he was in heaven or perhaps his own personalized hell. Something between a choke, a sob, and a whimper caught in Dean’s throat. It was one thing to avoid eye contact with his partner’s semi-hard, very pronounced penis and another to put himself in direct, wet proximity of it. Another tug pulled him from his inner turmoil. </p><p>Hell. </p><p>Yep, Dean was definitely in hell with the way Cas’s glassy blue eyes were pleading with him.<br/>
“Feathers…” Dean tried to warn.</p><p>Squinting his eyes, Cas cut in sharply, “Together, or not at all.”</p><p>“You’re playing with your life! Why can’t you listen to me for two damn seconds?” Dean was exasperated. Déjà vu, he swore. Yeah, he was definitely experiencing déjà vu of their first meeting, standing toe-to-toe ready to throw fists right in the Captain’s office. </p><p>Cas tilted his chin up in a show of <em>you can’t fucking make me</em> defiance. The fingers around Dean’s biceps tightened like a snake coiling around its prey. Glassy eyes shattered, revealing the burning fire hidden underneath. A gulp followed a lick of his lips as if Dean could soothe the burn from flames flaring from Cas’s eyes with his tongue. </p><p>Drugged Cas seemed to be even more stubborn than normal Cas, which spelled nothing but trouble for Dean.</p><p>While the water in the shower was no doubt frozen lake cold, the hot water Cas had thrown him in was boiling hot. </p><p>“In together, or not at all.”</p><p>Dean’s resolve snapped; he was done with the games. Fresh out of fucks and patience, Dean moved swiftly wrapping Cas up in a bear hug. His back would hate him later, but he picked Cas up off the ground and deposited him in the cold water. </p><p>Dean realized his grave miscalculation of the situation two seconds too late for as strong as he was, even in his inebriated state,  Cas was just as strong using his own weight once he was on his feet to counteract Dean’s, causing him to stumble into the shower after him. </p><p>Ugh, there was no worse feeling than wet socked feet. Well except maybe wet, cold, soaked <em>everything</em>. Shivering fully clothed still; forget what he said about not being able to live without Cas because Dean was going to strangle him right here, right fucking now. </p><p>“It’s cold,” Cas had the audacity to complain while leaning forward to rest his head in the junction between Dean’s neck and shoulder. </p><p>Blanking completely whether, from the chill water or Cas’s warmth, Dean wasn’t sure, so his mouth supplied the talking rather than his mind, “Supposed to be cold,” he said lamely; at least Cas was taking the brute force of the water stream, his body basically a shield. </p><p>Raising his head as if closing his eyes would make the situation disappear, he debated the more urgent matter at hand—whether to take his fucking wet clothes off or suffer a few more minutes with them on. This must be revenge for splashing him with cold water while he was sleeping.  Any other reason for Cas to want Dean in the shower seemed to short-circuit his brain. He could always be a brick wall for Halloween this year for his impersonation of one was spot on as he stood solidly still; afraid to move and downright scared to open his eyes—they always say reality is better than fantasy and if the saying rang true then the dripping wet mass of sinfulness clinging to him would obliterate any and all of the fantasies during his sexy time for the foreseeable future. </p><p>Fuck this. Reaching up tentatively, Dean blindly touched Cas’ back; the fevered skin was slightly chilled. Thank goodness because fuck this cold water. Peeking open his eyes and trying to jostle Cas too much, Dean trained his eyes on the wall and yanked the water from freezing his dick off to something more tolerable like the perfect spring day, not too hot but too cold. He could deal with lukewarm, not really wanting to take the chance that warm water would be counterproductive.  </p><p>He more or less felt rather than heard Cas’s soft sigh of appreciation and the light scratching of stubble nuzzling against his neck confirmed it as well. The sensation had him swallowing a dry gulp. Fuck, he should be questioning his sanity right now, why the hell was he still here letting himself be drenched while still wearing his fucking raid clothing—shit was heavy clinging to his body. Then again, he did have a very naked, very solid human roadblock cutting off his means of escape. </p><p>As if Cas could sense him formulating a plan to leave, Cas did a complete 180; literally he turned himself around firmly planting his back against Dean’s front. Fuck, the rules of whatever fucked game Cas was playing kept changing, causing Dean’s head to spin. </p><p>Like a rubber band being pulled back, Dean snapped back to being grounded in the reality of his situation with one word from the walking, talking prepackaged porn glued to him, <em>“Dean.”</em></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>

</p>
</div><p>His name fell from Cas’s lips like an angel falling from grace—fast and breathtakingly captivating. Dean can’t even think of a single time after their initial meeting in which Cas called him by his first name instead of Freckles or Winchester or the occasional Assbutt. </p><p>Cas curved his back like a damn stretching cat letting the water cascade down his face without a care. As if the fucker hadn’t quaked Dean’s world enough, he began trailing his fingers down his chest in feather-like movements. The main effect of the ecstasy that exploded in his face was finally kicking in and Dean felt like a damn peeper watching Cas tease his chest with his fingers. </p><p>He needed to leave and let Cas do his thing; he needed to put a stop to his involvement in this. But all the words he’s learned over the course of his lifetime failed him as another hissed, more urgent “Dean,” came spilling from Cas’s mouth. </p><p>Fuck his life. He was a weak man okay? A weak, horrible man who couldn’t find the strength to leave a damn shower because the partner he’d been lusting after/a little bit in love with was moaning his name.</p><p>
  <em>HIS FUCKING NAME.</em>
</p><p>Yeah, none of his fantasies lived up to this reality. </p><p>He believed in consent and Cas was nowhere in the right mind to consent to anything. So, Dean did the most respectful thing his shot to hell mind could manage, he shoved his face into the back of Cas’s neck peeling his body away from the other man as much as he could, except Cas wasn’t having any of it. </p><p>“Dean,” Cas said with the softest tone Dean had ever heard while reaching back to grab Dean’s hands and place them on his hips. With a choked breath, Dean gripped the fuck out of those sharp hips; half afraid if he pulled his hands away, he would cut himself. How could the universe hand him everything he’s ever wanted in the dirty, most underhanded fucking way? </p><p>He kept his eyes slammed shut and face buried deep into the back of Cas’s neck, not willing to take even a centimeter being offered to him. All he could do was hold the fuck on while hisses followed by a mix of breath moans and his name echoed off the shower walls. </p><p>Maybe, if there was a God, he would show Dean some mercy and Cas would not remember a single thing after the raid; a complete blank so Dean wouldn’t have to fill in the gaps of his partner jerking himself—achingly slow and teasing--off in a lukewarm shower while moaning his name. Yeah, Dean would rather jump off a cliff than try and explain whatever the fuck this was. </p><p>Then as if his prayers were answered, he felt Cas go rigid in his hands; a small shout capturing his attention. Cas became completely boneless in his hands, a hum borderline purring resounding from his partner’s chest. Chalking up how Cas orgasms onto the board with things Dean never needed to know about his partner but now does and his life is forever fucked because of it, Dean let the water run a few more seconds letting it wash away any lingering evidence of Cas’s impromptu jerking. </p><p>Finding his strength, Dean reached out and turned the shower off. Mustering all of his courage was a whole other ordeal when he could hear Cas’s post orgasm short breaths plain as day but he somehow managed to maneuver out of the shower getting Cas wrapped up in an oversized towel. </p><p>Fucker wouldn’t even look him in the eyes, just clutched the towel around his body, biting his lip in shame and face aglow with a shiny apple redness. Not having the mental capacity to process that either the orgasm helped ease the fog surrounding his partner’s mind or the cold water actually did its damn job and he actually understood the implications of what just transpired, Dean simply stated, “Bed. Now.” </p><p>They could sort this mess out in the morning when they both had clear heads. And for once in their partnership, Cas didn’t put up a fight at Dean’s command rather he simply nodded and turned on his heel swiftly exiting the bathroom but not before Dean could say, “And put some damn clothes before you do!” at Cas’s retreating form. </p><p>Whiplash. The whole night had given a serious case of whiplash from the building not being clear as stated to Cas stripping in his front seat to the asshole avoiding the shower like it was diseased to listening to his partner come with his name on his tongue to Cas all but giving the shoulder after; as soon as he thought he had a handle on a situation another curveball was thrown his damn way pelting him in the damn head. Fucking whiplash; he felt its effects settle into his bones—deep exhaustion and aching body parts. </p><p>Even dead tired, Dean could cry tears of joy for finally stripping out of his drench clothing. Every inch of his skin seemed pruned and the oversized towel he wrapped himself was a godsend. Stepping out of the bathroom—leaving his pile of wet clothes on the floor for Cas to pick up as petty revenge—he noticed an orange boxer clad Cas-sized lump smack dab in the middle of the bed, face buried into the pillows. </p><p>Operating on autopilot, Dean walked out of the master bedroom to the guest room he had commandeered as his own months ago. Already pruned, he figured taking an actual hot shower wouldn’t hurt. The skin-melting water blanked his mind letting him focus solely on his movements; washing head-to-toe quick and efficient. </p><p>Once he was dry and in fresh, very dry boxers and gym shorts, his mind attempted to boot back up despite the fatigue fog clouding it. With his mother-hen instincts kicking back in, he knew he should check on Cas before crawling into bed himself. Sighing, he made a trip to the kitchen to grab a fresh call of water for Cas to drink before entering the master bedroom. Cas was right where Dean had seen him last, still sprawled out in the middle of the bed. </p><p>Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cas looked so soft; his sleeping face truly the face of an angel. The sight made his heartache and skip a beat at the same time, or maybe he was just having a seizure; honestly, anything was possible at this point. </p><p>“Hey,” Dean said, lightly shaking his partner which earned him a groan of protest. “Hey, I’m tired too; especially from putting up with your bipolar ass tonight but I need you to drink this for me.” </p><p>Cas blinked his eyes open and with another groan of protest pushed himself up on his elbows before accepting the offered glass. Dean made sure he drank the whole thing before taking back the glass and setting it on the nightstand receiving a croaked, “Thank you.”</p><p>“Yeah, you have a lot to be thanking me for but right now let’s just worry about getting you under the covers.” Dean huffed, fighting with the blankets and the non-cooperative human paperweight on top of them. </p><p>Somehow in the struggle, Dean coincidentally also ended up under the covers. And with Cas’s siren song soft snores, sleep seeped into every fiber of his muscles; his last coherent thought being Cas’s memory foam was like sleeping on a cloud trudged through his mind as he drifted off to sleep feeling safe and warm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, yes. Was that torture? (Cackles). As always comments, thoughts, and concerns welcome.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Game Of Chess</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter Warning: NSFW, Explicit Content</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">Chapter 8: A Game of Chess</div>
</h3><p>Being buried alive in concrete didn’t even begin to describe the heavy crushing sensation he felt. It was as if he was moving his body through quicksand, the more he tried to move the more he felt himself sinking; sinking into a blackhole oblivion. The feeling was a stark contrast to the blissful free-flying feeling he had been experiencing earlier. Maybe if he let himself sink, he’ll feel it again or at least feel free from this heaviness, though the heaviness is suffocating, it’s also quite warm. Perhaps he’ll let himself ink until nothing, but this warmth exists. </p><p>His bladder though, kindly reminded Castiel that it also existed and needed attention. Ugh, he tried shifting, his limbs each a two-ton weight. His mind thudded against his skull as he strained to crawl out of his bed? Yes, he was in fact in his bed, leaving him with so many questions; questions he would focus on later when he wasn’t on the verge of peeing his pants. </p><p>Using all of his willpower, Castiel trudged out of the bed and somehow managed to stumble his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. Flashes of the night played in his mind’s eye as he did so. </p><p>He could vividly remember entering the warehouse, clearing the office, and a bullet exploding the white powder in his hand rather than his skull like a ripe melon on a hot day. As he washed his hands, the images in his recollection became a bit fuzzy. He remembers his helmet came off in the scramble to hit the floor as they were under fire and oh god, he thought palming his face; Dean was going to tease him relentlessly for his sneezes, he could see the mischievous <em>I’m going to haunt you with this until you die</em> glint in his partner’s eyes. He cursed under his breath about his bad luck and tried to recall what happened after. </p><p>The funny feeling began creeping up on him when the swarm of officers arrived. He can remember glimpses after that: walking to Dean’s car and calling the sleek machine sexy despite not wanting to stoke Dean’s overly inflated ego, feeling overheated and suffocating so he stripped out of his vest and shirt, then it’s even fuzzier. Gliding? Was he carried inside? He can’t say he remembers but he felt as if he was gliding or maybe he was flying, either way, he felt rather dazed. </p><p>Then he can remember the sensation of almost drowning in horrible tasting tap water. Leaning against the sink, he can’t help the bile of disgust in his throat. Bleh, Miami’s tap water wasn’t only metal tasting but somehow salty like drinking salted flakes of aluminum. </p><p>Closing his eyes, he thought hard trying to recall how exactly he ended up in his bed after suffering through what felt like gallons of tap water torture. More water, freezing water. Did he dream he was in the shower with Dean? Had to be a dream he reassured himself, a very vivid dream of chilly, refreshing water dripping down his naked form and Dean pressed against him. Sadly, even in his dreams, things between him and Dean were PG—Dean still had all of his clothes while Castiel made himself feel good, just the presence of Dean watching him touch himself was enough to bring him to completion. God, he was pathetic. </p><p>Scrubbing a hand down his face, he really needed to get a handle on his feelings for Dean. If he didn’t, he’d be at risk of losing Dean not only as a partner but possibly altogether. The mere thought made his simmering headache flare up something nasty. Splashing cold water on his face, at least he didn’t dissolve into violating Dean in his dreams, he sighed. He wiped his face, feeling a tad more human. Maybe even with a bit more sleep, he might even be able to function. </p><p>As he turned to try and move his lead-based body back to the comfort of his memory foam, he instinctively shrank back as his foot connected with something wet and slimy. His reflexes were still slow, and the tiled bathroom floor was unforgiving as he fell on his ass. </p><p>“Ow.” He rubbed at his tailbone; that was going to leave a bruise. Pain tickled his spine, what in God’s name tried to slither up his foot and attempt to murder him? </p><p>Wet clothes?</p><p>Indeed, a pile of wet clothes sat in the middle of his bathroom. Looking around, the pair of boxers and pants he had worn earlier were neatly folded next to the toilet. </p><p> So, whose clothes were these? </p><p>If he was wearing fresh boxers and these were probably Dean’s wet clothes…then…then…</p><p>Oh.</p><p>
  <em>Oh God.</em>
</p><p>Castiel scrambled back from the pile of wetness as if it would come alive and devour him whole. </p><p>A single realization chanted itself over and over again as he fell back onto his ass for the second time in less than five minutes: The shower wasn’t a dream. </p><p>He straight up masturbated while he made Dean hold onto him. </p><p>Every part of him flushed red like he was a lobster dropped into a pot of boiling water. What has he done? Panic fed his adrenaline allowing him to finally move his body quickly. He scrambled onto his feet and ran into the bedroom only to brace himself against the bathroom door frame. </p><p>Dean was curled up in the spot he once occupied, snoring soundly. Sudden calmness washed over him despite his pounding heart. Dean was safe; safe and asleep in <em>Castiel’s</em> bed. With the blankets kicked down to his waist, Dean’s gorgeous freckled skin was on full display. </p><p>What a horrible man he was; he should be ashamed ogling his defenseless partner while he snores like an angry bear, especially after his indiscretion in the shower. But rather than shame, adoration for the bear in his bed bloomed in his chest followed with flowers of dread. Exhaling deeply, he would beg on his knees for forgiveness for his actions. Even being drugged didn’t excuse his actions, he would need to apologize but for now, he would let Dean simply sleep.</p><p>His racing rollercoaster of emotions in a matter of minutes had him feeling wide awake and he could really use some aspirin for his insistent headache. But first…</p><p>He rounded the bed and took one last good glance at the drooling Adonis ruining his pillow before pulling up the blankets over Dean’s shoulders. On his way out of the room, he grabbed his cellphone and flicked the light off, shaking his head at the fact they fell asleep with the light on, to begin with. Another high school girl blush crept up at his neck at realizing that up until his bladder so rudely awakened him, he was sharing a bed with Dean. Pinching the bridge of his nose, could the world give him a break? </p><p>Heaving another sigh, he padded into the kitchen while tapping the screen on his phone to check the time. Jesus, just how long have they been asleep?</p><p>Using his better senses, he opened up his locked screen and dialed the Captain to check-in and find out the progress on the case. </p><p>The line picked up on the second ring. “Captain,” Castiel started and was promptly cut off by the Captain’s gruff voice. </p><p>“Boy, you better be dead if you’re calling me instead of recovering,” </p><p>“I was calling to check the progress of the case,” he muttered, suddenly feeling like an imbecile for calling at all. </p><p>The Captain huffed into the phone, “You two idiots, I swear.” Castiel waited and the older man relented, “We turned over the journal Dean found to Sam to draw up the proper warrants. Looks like we’ll be cleaning the swamp out, we’re going to be collaring some influential assholes starting tomorrow.”</p><p>“I’ll wake Dean up and we’ll head in.”</p><p>“Over my dead body, you idjit! Dean called me last night and told me about you being accidentally drugged.”</p><p>“Sir—”</p><p>“Don’t sir me son. Your asses are staying home. I don’t want to see you in here for at least three days while we clean this damn mess up. Don’t need to babysit your asses while you aren’t at a hundred percent, not while half of Miami is gunning for you being the arresting officers on this case.”</p><p>“I’m sure Dean and I could handle our own sir,” Castiel said, trying to defend them.</p><p>“Son, some of our own were in that journal. I don’t need a damn retribution war on my hands, so until we can weed out the rats, park your ass somewhere. That’s an order.”</p><p>Sighing in defeat, Castiel said, “Yes sir.”</p><p>“Good, now I’ve got a precinct to clean up.”’ The line went dead before Castiel could get another word in edgewise. He clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. Instead of arresting Dick and whoever else, they were confined to his apartment because of his mistake. Ugh, could he just start the last 48 hours over again? He’d have to trust the Captain was right and it was nothing personal but more a safety precaution. There was going to be bad blood at the station for a while after this he imagined, laying low might be their best option while the Captain flushed out the trash. </p><p>God, he needed aspirin like yesterday. He found the bottle he stored in his kitchen drawer and downed two pills with unfortunately a glass of tap water. Well, he should probably make coffee for the grumpy bear as a peace offering before he broke the bad news about being confined, and maybe if he was lucky Dean would be willing to listen to his apology. Or at least punch him in the face, it might be the quickest way to return things back to normal given Dean preferred actions to feelings. And if he was being the least bit honest, he deserved it. </p><p>But not without coffee first. </p><p>The familiarity of making a pot of God’s nectar provided him a sense of peace. While everything else seemed to be crumbling around him, the sound of steaming hot bean water seemed to remain a constant he could count on. </p><p>As if the last drips into the pot were a summoning sigil, Dean magically appeared disheveled and frowning. Grabbing two mugs, Castiel poured himself one then added in the right amount of sugar that Dean liked to the other before handing over the mug to him.</p><p>Where did he even begin? <em>Good morning Dean, sorry I used you as a personal masturbation tool in the shower last night, still partners? Morning Freckles, I know you wanted to arrest Dick personally but it seems we aren’t allowed near the station and while we are on the conversation of dicks, I hope I didn’t scar you with mine.</em></p><p> He knew his best option was the obvious one: work first then everything else. </p><p>Waiting until Dean sipped at his precious coffee, he said, “I called Captain Singer.” Dean hummed around his hot liquid in response, so Castiel continued: “We’ve been sidelined.”  </p><p>“All of the risk and none of the glory sounds about right,” Dean said, staring into his coffee like it personally offended him. Seemed this was going to be a two-cup conversation based off of Dean’s growing frown, “How long? How long are we sitting on the bench?”</p><p>“Three days while they hand out warrants and—” Castiel started.</p><p>“And have all the fucking fun throwing every single piece of shit in that damn journal in a holding cell—” Dean grumbled, and the longer he talked the more Castiel hoped he’d choke on his coffee. </p><p>“We’ve painted a target on our backs, Singer is arresting men we saw every day; men I would have laid my own life down for until yesterday. I can’t argue with the Captain’s reasoning for having us ‘on the bench’.” He air-quoted his partner.</p><p>“Well I sure as hell can, we put our careers on the line with this case; my brother’s and Charlie’s life were on the line with this case and Bobby’s telling me I don’t get to bring in the scumbag behind all of it?” Castiel arched an eyebrow at the venom Dean was spitting; maybe starting with work was a bad idea. “Nah, fuck that. Dick was supposed to our collar, supposed to personally see that pompous asshole behind bars.”  </p><p>The only pompous ass in the room was Castiel, he robbed Dean of seeing this case through until the end because of his mistake. He felt precisely two inches tall. </p><p>“You’re more than welcome to go, I’m sure Captain Singer would appreciate the help; I would be of no use in this state.” There. He offered Dean an excuse to leave or maybe he was offering himself an excuse. Either way, it was his fault they were in this mess to begin with and he was man enough to own up to it. And also, man enough to stow his ego and apologize and as he opened his mouth—</p><p>“<em>—Excuse you,</em>” Dean hissed with narrowed eyes. Of course, Dean was going to make him spell it out. </p><p>He was not going to rise to Dean’s bait though, “I was merely offering what you want, it was my mistake last night that got us sidelined. You shouldn’t have to be stuck here with me.” </p><p>“Mistake?” Dean said in his <em>you’ve got to be shitting me</em> voice.</p><p>“My carelessness cost us the satisfaction of seeing this case to the end,” Cas pointed out the obvious, furrowing his brows.</p><p>“Your..your carelessness.” Dean rolled the words his tongue like he couldn’t believe he was having to say them in the first place, “You could be dead right now, you could have eaten a bullet last night.”</p><p>“Your right, instead I inhaled drugs because I lifted up my face shield—”</p><p>“They said the building was clear, you heard it, I heard it.”</p><p>“That’s no excuse!” he growled. Why did everything have to be an argument?</p><p>“I’m not leaving, drink your fucking coffee.” Dean spat, white-knuckling his own mug. </p><p>The condescending command immediately sparked his inner rage. “Why?”</p><p>“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” Dean challenged.</p><p>“I’m not!” Castiel punctuated,  pinching the bridge of his nose; only Dean could give him a headache worse than a drug hangover could. </p><p>“Sounds like you are, which would be really shitty after I babysat your ass last night.” </p><p>Last night. Jesus, he still needed to apologize for last night. The thought was like a fire extinguisher to the simmering tension under his skin. “About last night, I—”</p><p>“No,” Dean shook his head. “No, we are not doing this right now.” </p><p>Castiel cringed, had he ruined their partnership so badly? Regardless, he needed Dean to understand; he couldn’t sweep last night under the rug despite his desire to do so. He couldn’t let any more mistakes drive a wedge deeper between. He’d rather shred his ego to pieces than lose Dean. </p><p>“Yes, we are,” Castiel stated firmly with no room for argument. His feet moved on their own accord, bringing him within inches of his partner. “I owe you an apology.” His throat felt as dry as Dean’s expression. </p><p>“I accept, are we done?” Dean pushed his mug aside and tried turning on his heel to walk away. It sounded less than sincere; in Castiel’s mind, it sounded like goodbye.</p><p>“No.” Castiel snatched Dean’s wrist on instinct. “No, I owe you much more than a mere apology.”</p><p>Dean looked down at his wrist, held captive before flicking his gorgeous greens up to Castiel where he could visibly see them change emotions second to second. </p><p>With narrowed eyes, Dean spoke through thinning, agitated lips, “Drop it, it’s fine.” </p><p>It probably would be best to drop the issue, salvage what he hasn’t already destroyed but for the life of him, Castiel just <em>couldn’t</em>. “You and I both know it’s not fine, I used you last night for my own personal sexual gratification and I crossed a line.” </p><p>“Oh, for fucksakes.” Dean said exasperated, sounding more defeated than annoyed; his eyes shifting to the ceiling as if it held all the answers of the universe or perhaps praying for strength not to strangle Castiel right here. </p><p>“I took advantage of you.”</p><p>Dean scrubbed his free hand down his face, “Jesus man, you were fucked up.”</p><p>“It’s not an—”  </p><p>“You were high!” Dean cut in. </p><p>Castiel rarely got angry, and even more rarely shouted; he honestly surprised himself at the outburst: “That’s no excuse for my actions!” Castiel shouted, snapping Dean’s attention from the ceiling to his face. </p><p>One outburst was always followed by another, “I LIKED IT,” Dean seethed. </p><p>“What?” Castiel gaped like a deer caught in the headlights. Either he had heard Dean wrong or...</p><p>Dean shifted his eyes to the floor, his entire body seemingly sagging with relief from the admission but also guilt? Yes, from Castiel’s perspective Dean looked honestly guilty about a situation Castiel had forcibly put him in. Dean had no reason to apologize, and did he say he liked it? The words finally sank in as Dean filled in the silence with an explanation to the floor, “I could have left but I didn’t. I didn’t because I didn’t want to. If anyone took advantage of someone it was me.” </p><p>Trailing the hand which had been holding Dean’s wrist hostage up to Dean’s face, Castiel cupped his partner’s cheek, “Dean. <em>Dean</em>, look at me.” </p><p>“Cas, I’m the one who should mmhmm—” Castiel crashed his lips against Dean, devouring the remnants of the sentence on Dean’s tongue. If the forbidden fruit had tasted half as delectable and sweet as Dean’s lips, Castiel understood exactly why the original sin was committed; heaven wasn’t a place, it was a feeling—one he had found in the slide of Dean’s lips against his own. </p><p>They’ve been so stupid, so stupid dancing around one another. </p><p>He felt Dean’s breath hitch. Maybe he read this wrong, but as he went to pull back and apologize all over again, Dean began to return Castiel’s kiss in kind. </p><p>A short battle of dominance occurred but Dean yielded, quickly becoming putty in his hands. He tilted his head just so giving Castiel better access to lick even deeper into Dean’s mouth.  Speaking of hands, they seemed to be everywhere, exploring freely once restricted territory. Fingers greedily mapped bare skin, searching for hidden treasure or perhaps just X marks the spot. </p><p>Teeth clanged together as Castiel tried to shift them again, the small of Dean’s back bumping the edge of the kitchen counter. Fuck, he needed more—more lips to nibble, more skin to grasp, more tongue to tease, just more Dean in every way. Heat simmered underneath his skin, and even with bedhead and coffee breath, Dean was still the most exquisite being he’d ever laid his eyes on. </p><p>A guttural moan of protest came from Dean as he pulled back. Sad to separate from his new favorite addiction for even a second, Castiel had better plans in mind. Dean let out a rather entertaining <em>EEEEPPPPP</em> sound as Castiel swept Dean clean off his feet and deposited him on the kitchen counter. Now he could feast on Dean with better ease starting with that mouth-watering freckled jaw. In response, Dean wrapped his legs around him, yanking him closer. His partner tilted his head back to give Castiel all the access he could want. </p><p>Only one thing was missing. What he really wanted. What he needed. </p><p>“Say it again—” Castiel breathed between nibbles on the column of Dean’s throat, “—say my name, Dean.”</p><p>Porn didn’t hold to candle to the noise Dean made when Castiel said his name. Chasing the sound to its source, he pecked Dean’s lips once, twice before another encompassing, breath-snatching kiss. Gulps of air were taken between pecks and bites. He’d lay waste to the world to have his name fall from the lips of the Adonis he was lavishing just once more. “Say.” He sunk his teeth into Dean’s bottom lip earning another breathy gasp. “My.” He breathed into the nonexistent space between them. “Name,” he finished, pouring every ounce of <em>want</em> into Dean’s glimmering emeralds. </p><p>Arching his back like a stripper short on this month's rent, Dean grabbed a fistful of Castiel’s equally unruly bedhead and wickedly smirked, “Make me.” Oh, he intended to. </p><p>He intended to make Dean scream, gasp, curse, and cry out his name. </p><p>Grabbing Dean’s love handles, he pulled the other man flush against his stomach; Dean’s straining erection brushing up against his exposed skin. </p><p>He thumbed at Dean’s bottom lip, finding himself completely entranced, “You and your mouth.” Not even in his wildest imaginations did he believe he could have a creature as cunning, as smart, as ravishing as Dean. Honestly, he would have laughed—might have even tried righteously to smite them with a piercing glare—in anyone’s face six months ago if they would have said he’d standing here today hopelessly lost on the one and only Dean Winchester. Yet he was. Placing a chaste kiss on his favorite collection of freckles right in the center of Dean’s forehead— a collection he’s seen furrowed in anger, concentration, fear and now pleasure—Castiel planned on delivering the promise of making Dean say his name.   </p><p>As Castiel pulled back, Dean batted his lashes while tracing the hem of his boxers. “Whatcha gonna do about it?” Dean hummed in an open <em>come get me</em> challenge.</p><p>He was going to show Dean exactly how he wanted to shut that pouty mouth. “This,” He replied, trading his grasp on those luscious love handles for globs of fine boxer clad ass tugging Dean clean off the counter. Dean’s yelp of surprise only spurred him on more. </p><p>Vice-gripping his legs around Castiel’s waist, “You better not fucking drop me, asshole.” Dean growled, like a tiger cub learning how to roar for the first time. With a smile and in a show of strength, or pettiness depending on who you were asking, Castiel loosened his grip pretending like he was going to drop Dean to the floor before hauling him back up. The screech Dean let out, served his cocky ass right, Castiel thought as he carried his human front backpack from the kitchen towards the master bedroom all the while biting and sucking on any inch of skin he could attach his mouth to. </p><p>Only this position worked more in Dean’s favor than his own since Dean was grinding himself shamelessly up and down on his stomach; a reminder of the very hard, very attention-seeking boner just waiting to be ravished, lavished and devoured. And who was he to deny Dean? </p><p>Pinning the mass of sex god in arms to the closet wall for support, he reached between them once he good one-handed grip and trailed a finger overgrowing the wet spot—a glimpse of what was to come. As much as he wanted to tease Dean until he was a blubbering, begging mess, he wanted, even more, to show him what he could have had all along.</p><p>Castiel swirled his thumb on the growing stain, enjoying the explicit curses waterfalling from Dean’s mouth. “Fuck—come on—you fucking—tease—fuck—shit—” Dean gasped between each curse word, trying to wiggle himself better into Castiel’s palm. </p><p>“What did I say about that mouth, huh?” he whispered into Dean’s ear before wrapping his fingers around the boxer clad shaft and stroking in earnest. Dean whimpered and the sound broke Castiel’s resolve; he had planned on taking his time, and now all he could think was how he needed Dean now.  </p><p>“I’m going to take you apart until you can’t say anything at all.” He breathed into the shell of Dean’s ear while giving his clothed dick two more rough squeezes. </p><p>Shifting his weight forward, Castiel readjusted himself so he could better grab the back of Dean’s thighs. Hauling his precious cargo to the bedroom, Castiel deposited Dean on the bed; taking deep satisfaction in the fact not only was Dean in his bed once again but also in the fact, Dean looked so damn hot bouncing up and down on the mattress. </p><p>Dean scrambled to the center of the bed and Castiel chased after him, catching Dean’s ankle. Sitting upon his knees, Castiel allowed himself to just soak in this moment; the ankle in his hand a grounding realization that yes, this indeed was happening. He’d been lying to himself since the kiss in the nightclub, repeatedly telling himself if that kiss was it, was the only one; he’d be happy with it, over the moon he was allowed to taste Dean at least once. What a silly lie indeed because seeing Dean toss him an easy <em>Fuck me already</em> eyebrow while opening his legs like a clamshell displaying a marvelous pearl was something he’d want over and over again.</p><p>Languid kisses crept their way up Dean’s open inner thigh. Nibbles and nips were nuzzled into the soft cotton of boxers’ briefs. Fingers caressed every bit of freckled skin they could reach, up until thumbs hooked into Dean’s waistband. In one clean motion, Castiel slid off Dean’s boxers, eyeing the beautiful cut cock which sprung free without hesitation.</p><p>Dean leaned up on his elbows, eyebrow arched as Castiel took a beat to completely drink in the very naked, very sinful human splayed out before him. His eyes landed on the small black tattoo on the right-side of Dean’s chest, slightly above his heart. Leaning forward, his fingers traced the inked lines; Dean had explained once that tattoo was a protection sigil, one Dean and his brother both sported to keep evil at bay. He admired the stark contrast of black to the surrounding freckled skin. </p><p>A small gasp left Dean as Castiel placed a kiss in the center of Dean's tattoo. From the center he trailed his tongue down to swirl around a dusty pink nipple, earning him a shuddering inhale from above. Not to neglect the other nipple, he nibbled across the broad expanse of chest to lavish the other perky bud. </p><p>Ignoring his own arousal, Castiel pinned Dean’s hips to the mattress while he spelled out the ABC’s on Dean’s nipple Dean dug one hand into Castiel’s back, the other sunk into Castiel’s hair tugging in a way that said <em>let’s get this show on the road.</em></p><p>Getting the hint, he made his way downwards leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. </p><p>He sucked a hickey into the flesh right beside the weeping erection. </p><p>A whine came from above him, “You’re killing me.” </p><p>Oh he was about to, Castiel thought to himself as he stopped sucking and licked a long, wet stripe from the base of Dean’s cock to the head; savoring the taste of Dean exploding on his tongue. Kitty licking at the head, Dean shoved both hands in his disheveled locks, “What happened to—” he gulped around a small moan, “—making me scream your name? Huh? At this rate the only thing I’ll be doing—AHHHHHH,” Dean mewled as Castiel wrapped his lips around Dean’s shaft and made his way down; pressing his tongue to the underside of Dean’s dick. </p><p>Dean’s challenging tone made Castiel want to push the limits of his gag reflex—his surprising nonexistence gag reflex. He bobbed up and down before coming all the way up, only to sink back down achingly slow; enjoying Dean quaking underneath him. </p><p>“Ah—” Dean withered as Castiel choked around the dick punching the back of his throat, “—Not gonna last—fuck your mouth is heaven—” </p><p>Coming up for air, “Dean…” Castiel trailed off, the sight of just how beautiful Dean looking utterly wrecked, snatched the breath from his lungs. “You’re beautiful,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue like a prayer. Dean slowly blinked at him in return, opening and closing his mouth before his body flushed red from the middle of his chest to the tips of his ears. </p><p>Breathless yet demanding, “Fuck me,” Dean moaned.  </p><p>Castiel felt dumbstruck; of course, he dreamed about being buried in Dean’s heat but actually getting the chance had him stumbling, “Are you sure?” he asked, needing confirmation this was real; that this wasn’t another very vivid, drug-induced hallucination and Dean was actually asking him to fuck him wildly into the mattress. </p><p>Leaning up, Dean showed not a shred of doubt in his grassy eyes, “Want you.”  </p><p>Swallowing his tongue, Castiel nodded stroking Dean’s lovely cock a few times so it wouldn’t feel lonely before he knee-walked over to his nightstand to fetch a condom and a bottle of lube. While he grabbed the prep items, Castiel took an extra second to shed his own pair of boxers, throwing them to the floor without a care. </p><p>“Such a boy scout,” Dean teased, except the predatory gleam in his eyes at Castiel’s newly freed cock betrayed the goading in his voice. </p><p>“Now—” Castiel spoke, pouring a generous amount of lube on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the cool liquid, “—let’s see what kind of noises that mouth can make.” </p><p>Dean lifted his hips and spread his legs even wider to give him better access. Running a soothing hand down the top of Dean’s left thigh, Castiel reached between them to circle the lubed up digit around Dean’s hole. He could feel Dean’s gasp as he slowly slid his finger into the tight ring of muscles. One finger in and out became two, and two became three scissoring, twisting, and pumping, occasionally brushing Dean’s moan zone. Moving his fingers deftly, Castiel needed to make sure they were on the same page before taking the final plunge, “Dean.” Dean opened his lost- in-pleasure, half-hooded eyes to give Castiel his rapt attention, “Is this what you want?”</p><p>“Yes,” Dean gasped, back arching as Castiel slid his fingers over his prostate again, “Wanted you since—fuck—met you—you and your stupid sex hair—Jesus—and your <em>I’ll-fuck-you-up</em> blue eyes—” Dean leaned up and clutched both Castiel’s biceps, “—Castiel Novak—I fucking want you and if you don’t fuck me soon so help me—”  Castiel kissed his name and the threat right out of Dean’s mouth, removing his fingers from Dean’s clenching hole in the process. </p><p>Breaking apart for air, Castiel reached over Dean to grab a pillow and tapped Dean’s hip,  signaling him to lift up so he could situate the pillow underneath his hips. Leaning forward, Castiel snatched a few more kisses, unable to satisfy his craving for the taste of Dean. A laugh bubbled in his chest as Dean wiggled his needy hips, humping the space in between them. Pulling away, Castiel leaned back on his heels, grabbing the condom. </p><p>Rolling it on was the easy part, listening to Dean whine about how long it was taking made him want to gag the other man. But instead, Castiel poured a copious amount of sex goodness on his cock and lined himself up with the prepped hole. With the mountain of lube easing the way, both men groaned as the head popped past the initial ring of muscles.</p><p>Heaven. Hell. He wasn’t sure. Being inside Dean was the single most soul ascending feeling yet at the same time an undeniable familiar heat was coiling in his balls. He had staved off touching himself or being touched, for fear of cumming all too quickly, and bottoming out inside of Dean almost made that fear a reality. Allowing Dean a second to adjust and himself a moment to gain composure, Castiel's lips pecked at every freckle he could reach. A hand wove into his hair, tugging hard, and with it Castiel pulled back a little and snapped his hips forward; a scream from Dean filled the bedroom space. </p><p>“Cas…Casssssssss…..” Dean moaned as he began fucking him in earnest. Unable to hold back when such sinful sounds were occupying his ears, “Right there—” Dean fisted the sheets, “—AH” Dean arched his back as Castiel thrust hard and fast; hooking one of Dean’s legs around his forearm to give him a better thrusting position. Later, there'd surely be tiny finger imprints from bruises on the top of Dean’s thighs for which he didn’t feel the least bit sorry.   </p><p>Dean, as a lover, was as mouthy as his partner. Curses filled the spaces between the <em>harder please</em> and the <em>you can move faster than that</em> and his favorite—<em>Castiel</em>. Making good on his promise, Castiel fucked Dean until the only words he could mutter were broken forms of his name accompanied shaky gasps of air. When Castiel felt his balls tighten with the familiar impending threat of climax, he reached down to wrap his fingers around Dean’s thick, neglected cock and stroked Dean in time with his thrusts.</p><p>It only took three well-executed punches to Dean’s prostate for Dean’s entire body to seize up as he shouted Castiel’s name; white ropes squirted all over Castiel’s hand and almost up to Dean’s chin. The sight of Dean’s orgasm, the feel of his cum between Cas’s fingers and the hard clench around his cock, is all it took for Castiel to bury himself deep inside Dean and fill the condom. </p><p>Spent, he kissed the corners of Dean’s lips while he slid out slowly; scrambling off the bed, Castiel made haste of the cleanup work—tying off the condom and throwing it away in the bathroom, returning with a warm, wet cloth to wipe Dean, who sighed happily in appreciation while laying boneless in the middle of the bed. </p><p>Standing up from the bed, he frowned at the rag in his hand and turned back to Dean to hold out his hand in invitation, “Fancy a shower?”</p><p>Dean hummed before propping himself on his elbows. “Do I get another personal sexy shower show?”</p><p>“Depends—” He stood already walking to the bathroom, only stopping when he reached the doorframe, “—You coming to find out?” Castiel smirked over his shoulder at the man ogling his ass from the bed. He stayed rooted to the spot long enough to watch Dean trip himself up in the sheets, falling off the bed in a heap from his hasty movements. Wiping a laugh tear from his eye as Dean waved from the side of the bed signaling he was in fact okay, Castiel strode into the bathroom set on rewriting last night’s events—this time with plenty of hot water and two very active participants. </p><p>Freshly showered and freshly orgasmed, they snuggled back into bed and this time when Castiel felt the crushing concrete feeling, he welcomed it with glee; Dean’s entire body draped over his own. He drew lazy patterns on Dean’s back, tracing random patterns he could make from the scatter of freckles across Dean’s shoulders. A heavy snore from the bear taking residence on his chest rattled his chest; Castiel huffed a small laugh, placing a chaste kiss into Dean’s hairline. He knew this beginning was going to be messy, being work partners was one issue and while the case was being wrapped up, they lived dangerous lives; the next big baddie always waiting in the shadows. Except, he’d run any obstacle course, jump through a million hoops, dare any challenge if it meant having Dean here just like this in his arms. Unable to resist, he nuzzled in a few more kisses before drifting off; hopeful and warm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Finally, am I right? Comments are always welcome. Once again this chapter was made possible Winchestersingerautorepair, and DeanieWeanieWrites.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A Compromising Exchange</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter Warning: Plot Twist</p><p>Welcome to the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <div class="center">A Compromising Exchange</div>
</h3><p>“Mhm—” A sleepy weight resettled on top of him, “—not yet.” </p><p>“Cas,” Dean said, attempting to stretch out the best he could with his Cas-sized impairment, “come on buddy, we gotta get up.” It had been three days. Three blissful, heavenly domestic days of everything he’d never he knew wanted—after coffee kisses, Cas tucked into his side asking a billion ridiculous questions while watching the Stars Wars Trilogy (“Why would we watch 4,5,6 six before 1,2,3?” – “Because that’s the rules”), eating spicy Thai food, and of course exploring the limits of Cas’s strength in all sorts of fun and exciting sex positions—but now that he had would murder anyone and anything willing to try and take it from him. </p><p>Cas being the forever through thinking even after their round of rough, mind-blowing sex followed by round two in the shower where Dean basked in the paradox of shower sex—he can’t help giggle at the thought, getting fucking filthy while at the same time getting clean from the running water—suggested Dean reach out to Sam and Charlie and update them on their circumstances regarding the case. Which, yeah, with the last 24 hours being a nonstop rollercoaster of adrenaline and curveballs, the thought of calling his little brother and adopted little sister to check-in had slipped his mind. </p><p>Sam had picked up on the second ring, “Dean,” his brother hissed in relief, “I had to call Bobby to get an update, how’s Cas doing?” Dean filled his brother about Cas inhaling some the ecstasy at the raid minus the whole pornographic shower show and the rocking his fucking word sex and how he should probably be hearing more from Bobby as arrest warrants were drawn up. Sam informed him his boss was in the journal and he honestly wasn’t even the littlest bit surprised, so he’s been temporarily forced promoted to District Attorney. The sheer magnitude of this case was bigger than Kevin and he ever imagined it would be. Sam also had some other interesting news—Castiel’s cousin Gabriel had come home from his overseas chocolate making trip and while Charlie found the man downright delightful, Sam found him overly obnoxious. </p><p>“Does he want you guys to leave? I’m sure Cas wouldn’t mind you guys crashing here while things get sorted out and Charlie feels comfortable to go home again,” Dean suggested. </p><p>Sam actually dismissed him though, despite being initially naggy about Gabriel. “Gabriel informed us we could stay as long as we needed saying—get this—he enjoys a lively house. And I think when we do leave, I have a feeling I’m going to have to drag Charlie out of here, she’s addicted to all the sweets Gabe keeps making. I’m afraid if we don’t leave soon though, we’ll both be ten pounds heavier.” </p><p>“Alright, we’ll just keep me informed as things proceed. Cas and I will be back in action in a few days when Cas is back on his feet a hundred percent.” </p><p>“I’ll let you know as things develop, and –shit—I think Gabe just set the smoke alarm off, the man can bake but can’t cook? Like how is that even possible? Gotta go, text me,” Sam said, hitting the hater button. Did he just say Gabe set the kitchen on fire? Had his little gotten so familiar with the man in a day or so, he had actually given Castiel’s cousin a nickname? His muddled brain could not process all of the information some spewed at him—as long as he was kept in the loop, everything would be fine. Plus, he had his own fire to handle in the form of a smoking hot ass partner waiting for him to crawl back into bed. </p><p>Now fast forward three days, it was time, unfortunately, to go back to work except his less than morning friendly counterpart thought otherwise. Ruffling the mess of near-black bedhead, “Bobby is going to chew our asses for being late on our first day back, not to mention the mound of paperwork I’m sure is piled on our desk.”</p><p>Huffing, Cas muttered into his chest, “You’ll make me do all the paperwork while you search for new leads like always, excuse me for wanting five more minutes before my inevitable suffering.”</p><p>Running his fingers through Cas’s thick strands, Dean said, “You asked for five more minutes twenty minutes ago.”</p><p>When he was met with silence, he shuffled a bit in order to halfway sit up and look down at the rumbling cat-like human using his body as a damn pillow.“Hey, what’s going through your head so early in the morning.”</p><p>Cas gave him a tight squeeze before hiding his face into Dean’s tummy. No grown ass man had the right to be so damn adorable, Cas was a crime against humanity. Chuckling, Dean jabbed his finger at Cas’s forehead. “Come on, if you aren’t going to talk at least get up so I can make us some coffee.”</p><p>“No, you’ll burn it.” Cas cringed in his arms. Okay, the only reason he burnt it yesterday was because he was distracted by six feet of sleep rumpled sex god kissing the back of his neck. So, he shouldn’t be the one to blame for the black sludge they ended up with. </p><p>“I’m going to dump you on the floor,” Dean warned, bluffing completely. </p><p>“I don’t want to get up,” Cas complained with a hint of something serious in his voice. “If we get up, everything changes.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Dean asked, perplexed with where in the world Cas’s head was at. </p><p>“I’m not ready to let go of this, of you, and go back to just being partners,” Cas finally admitted through gritted teeth. Ah. Dean had been plagued by the same thought over and over again the past few days. When they went back to work, would they go back to sleeping in separate rooms, go back to before? It’s a thought he pushed to the back of his mind to enjoy the now rather than the later. </p><p>Swallowing his doubts and manning up all his Winchester courage, Dean asked, “What do you want out of this Cas?”</p><p>“I—” Cas shifted, placing his hands on Dean’s stomach and propping his chin upon them so he could look at Dean, “—I want to be selfish. I want to continue to be your work partner and—” Cas blue eyes swam with intensity, determination sailing against the rough waters of uncertainty, “—and I want to come after a long day and make you a cup of coffee; I want to pick up after you and fall asleep holding you; I want to lavish your body and learn each and every one of your weakness—” Cas licked his lips, shifting his eyes away and back to Dean’s, “—I want whatever you are willing to give me Dean.”</p><p>Someone call 9-1-1, Cas just gave Dean a heart attack—was he even breathing? Dean is absolutely sure his heart exploded. His whole body flushed crimson. Shoving a hand in Cas’s face in a playful manner, “Fucking sap—” Dean choked up. “No chick-flick moments before coffee.”</p><p>“Dean,” Cas rumbled, right before the asshole licked the fingers pressed against his face. Snatching his hand, Dean scowled down at the Cheshire grin on Cas’s face. </p><p>“First of all EW—” Dean frowned, wiping his hand on Cas’s back, served the fucker right, “—and second of all, I’m not going anywhere. Probably be dealing with my loud ass mouth ‘til the day I die. Now get your ass up before Bobby shoots the both of us; and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to come back here tonight and try that thing we found last night.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas; trying to tempt the other man into getting his ass in gear while ignoring he basically spilled his entire heart out in some fucked up form of a proposal. </p><p>Finally, Cas slinked off him; stretching as he sat upon the edge of the bed. Jesus, the sight of Cas’s back muscles rippling as he roused them awake made Dean want to say fuck going back to work and tug that beautiful back attached to an even more beautiful man back into the sheets to see just how strained those muscle could become. As if he could sense Dean’s pervy eyes on him, Cas threw him a smirk over his shoulder and bounced his luscious naked ass off to the shower. </p><p>Hustling around the apartment, both men showered, dressed, and were looking for all their misplaced items—phone, wallets, keys. “Aye, let’s go!” Dean called out, standing next to the door. Bobby was going to murder them for sure but as Cas slid up to his side pulling him into a heated kiss, Dean knew he’d take Bobby lecturing him to death in order to indulge in five more seconds of Cas’s kiss. With one last chaste peck, they walked out the door becoming Officer Winchester and Officer Novak once more with work to do and criminals to catch. </p><p>Dean was right about the mountain of paperwork to fill out and file; he was also right about the lengthy lip lashing the Captain gave them for being late. They hit the ground running afterward, piecing together all involved not only in the blacklist journal but those possibly affiliated not in the journal. One big piece seemed to be missing, nagging at the back of Dean’s mind. Someone owned that journal and was smart enough to keep blackmail material on everyone they did business with—it was a clean and effective method of doing business in the criminal underworld. While they were wiping the city clean of its less than savory inhabitants, Dick Roman included, Dean couldn’t help but wonder who this key player could be; whoever they were, they were on his radar now and you can bet your ass Dean was coming for them. </p><p>With all pawns off the board, the boss would be forced to come out of the shadows to make a move and Dean would be waiting. </p><p>Between the phone calls, meetings, and paperwork the day passed quickly and unceremoniously. Most of the arrests had been made, and those still lingering were in the process of being tacked down and brought in. Normalcy was a word Dean feared he’d never obtain for Sam and Charlie but with all the immediately threatening players off the board, it was exactly what they were going to get. </p><p>It had only been four days, but it felt like a lifetime since he’d been to Gabriel’s apartment—the apartment which almost felt like a second home at this point. </p><p>Opening the door, he came face to face with the man Dean had only seen in his oversized portrait; brown eyes so light they looked gold and hair that could easily rival Sam’s in a Suave Commercial competition, “OH!” the man exclaimed, the end of a lollipop dangling from one side of his mouth, “You must Dean-o!” </p><p>“And you must be Gabriel,” Dean said, moving deeper into the apartment with Gabriel trailing behind. </p><p>“Good to finally meet Cassie’s partner in the flesh though it’s hard to believe you are Samsquatch’s brother; you look nothing alike,” Gabriel commented around a smack of his sucker. “Speaking of Cassie, where is my favorite grump of a cousin?”</p><p>“Finishing up a few interrogations,” Dean had lost in rock, paper, scissors so Cas got the cool job of getting answers out some slimeballs while Dean came to collect the lost children and take them home. Well joke is on his partner; Dean was looking forward to seeing the other half of their fun temporary Scooby gang. “I’m here for oooooof—” Charlie came from his left and hug-tackled him. “Hey Red, ready to go home?” Dean smiled at the mass of bouncing redhead in his arms. </p><p>“More than ready, I miss my set-up, my gear.” She smiled a smile so bright it could outshine the sun, “The Queen is ready to return to her kingdom.” </p><p>Dean squeezed before letting her go, “Well my lady, I am here to escort you home.”</p><p>“I’m also ready,” Sam said, stepping to view with his duffle bag. </p><p>Dean didn’t miss the frown Gabriel gave at Sam’s duffle, but it seemed rather odd. “Thanks for letting us use your pad as our temporary headquarters,” Dean said to Gabriel.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I owed my dear Cassie a favor.” Gabriel’s eyes slid to Sam, crunching the last bit of his lolly, “And I must say I owe him another.”</p><p>Okay, he didn’t have time, nor did he want to unpack whatever the <em>I’d love to lick you like this sucker</em> look Cas’ cousin was giving his little brother. Nope, not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Um, thanks again; I’ll tell Cas to call or whatever—” Glancing between his cohorts, “What do you say we blow this popsicle stand.” </p><p>Dean dropped Sam off first, figuring he’ll swing back by to pick up some stuff after he dropped Charlie off and made sure she really was safe. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do now this is over?” Dean asked. </p><p>Charlie hummed, a small smile on her face. “I’m not sure but there is always a need for people with my skill set, I only worked at Roman Enterprises because they paid well.” Charlie shrugged a shoulder. “I realize now, money isn’t everything.”</p><p>“You know,” Dean said, throwing Baby into park, “we could really use someone at the precinct with your skillset. You can’t tell me it didn’t feel good using your skills to put scumbags away.”</p><p>“Dean Winchester are you offering me a job?” Charlie flashed him a smile while reaching over the bench seat to grab her backpack. </p><p>“You don’t have to give me an answer but think about it,” Dean said, sliding out of the car to walk Charlie to her apartment door.</p><p>“I will.” Charlie stopped outside her door, giving Dean one last hug. “Don’t think just because this case is over that you’re never going to see or hear from me again, you know I can find you anywhere.” She sniffled into his shoulder.</p><p>“I’d never dream of it.” He kissed the top of her head, damn he really was going to miss seeing her sunshine attitude every day. Charlie stepped out his embrace and into her apartment giving him a small goodbye wave. While he was a tinge sad, Dean was happy they were able to give Charlie her life back. </p><p>Driving to his own apartment felt surreal, the last time he was when this whole mess had begun. Creaking open the door; he was met with the sight of Sam lounging on the couch pouring over what Dean assumed was case files. Dean had to admit Sam was handling being the new impromptu District Attorney with grace while cracking the whip down. </p><p>“Hey,” he said as to not scare the moose in his natural habitat. “Burning the candle at both ends I see.” </p><p>Sam huffed a laugh, “Like you’re one to talk. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you not in work mode.”</p><p>“How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Good,” Sam blinked. “Good for the first time in a long time it feels like; I’m ready to bring these people to justice and finally finish what Kevin started.”</p><p>“And you will,” Dean said, proud of what they managed to accomplish together.</p><p>“Are you staying or going?” Sam smirked, “You know, I’ve made enough for a while now to afford this place by myself.”</p><p>“Are you kicking me out?” Dean asked, a little offended. When did his baby brother get too damn big for his britches?</p><p>“Dean, I’m not in college anymore and truth be told it’s not like you live here anyway.” </p><p>Dean opened and closed his mouth before stalking off to his bedroom, he still paid half the rent, to gather some fresh clothes to take over to Cas’s. </p><p>Ignoring Sam’s smug smile when he eyed Dean’s bag, “I’m still paying half the rent, so I still live here.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, but know I’ll be okay if you do move out.” </p><p>Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, retorting, “Whatever you say, Bitch.”</p><p>“See you around, jerk,” Sam tossed back. Giving his little brother a two-finger salute, Dean headed back out to Baby ready to end the day on making good on his promise to Cas from the morning. Sliding into Baby, Sam’s offer echoed in his head. It’s not like Dean hasn’t thought about moving out, getting his own place or ‘officially’ moving in with Cas; this thing between them though, it was still so new, and Dean didn’t want to count his chickens before they hatched. Being partners and being partners were two separate things. Dean knew he could still work with Cas if things went sideways, but his heart; his heart would likely never recover. </p><p>Pushing the negative thoughts aside, Cas stated this morning he wanted whatever Dean was willing to give him—hopefully, his whole heart wasn’t too much. </p><p>“Yo,” Dean called out into the apartment, toeing his shoes off next to the door. Huh, he didn’t hear his partner’s voice or an answer; probably in the shower, Dean surmised. Except when Dean walked into the master bedroom, he didn’t hear the shower running. Going room by room, Cas was nowhere to be found. Really the asshole should have called if he was going to stay late at work, Dean thought, pulling out his cellphone and dialing his partner’s number. </p><p>Voicemail.</p><p>Voicemail again. </p><p>Every one of Dean’s red flags went up; Cas has never once since becoming partners not checked-in, even in their early days much to Dean’s dismay back in those days Cas felt the need to check-in. He wouldn’t not come home or at least shoot Dean a message to let him know where he was going to what he was doing—punctual was Cas’s whole personality. </p><p>Absolutely not panicking, Dean called the person who would have seen him last; Bobby. His phone connected on the second ring, the Captain’s voice filling the phone, “Son, do you ever sleep; I recommend getting a life.”</p><p>“Do you do either?” Dean retorted. “Anyways, have you seen Cas?”</p><p>“Calling him by his first name now?” Bobby huffed and regardless of not being able to see Dean, Dean blushed from Bobby’s teasing. “I ain’t seen your partner since he left a few hours ago, supposed to take a cruiser home; you two in some type of spat again?”</p><p>“No,” Dean answered, feeling panic seize up around his spine, “No, Bobby, listen; I’m worried. Cas isn’t answering his phone, he’s not at home, and I haven’t seen him.”</p><p>“Boy, I’m sure he’s fine.”</p><p>“<em>Bobby,</em>” Dean whined, his gut was plummeting; Cas was not fine. “This is Cas we are talking about, follow the rules to the letter, never away from his cellphone in case a call comes in Castiel Novak, and he’ not fucking answering and he’s not fucking here!”</p><p>“Dean, you need to calm down. I’ll check the camera’s here and—”</p><p>“No, I’m coming up there. I’ll retrace his steps.” Dean cut in, turning his panic into fuel; switching on his detective mode. </p><p>“I’m sure he’s—” Bobby started.</p><p>“I’ll see you in fifteen.” Dean hit the end button, already putting his shoes back on and heading out the door. </p><p>Retracing Cas’s steps was easy for there weren’t many to retrace. Dean found his cellphone and the cruiser keys he checked out abandoned right outside the parking lot where they kept the cruisers. His partner went from missing to fucking gone. </p><p>When he brought the items into the Captain’s office, Bobby immediately went to the tech room to watch the cameras. And there Cas was about an hour after Dean had left, leaving the building frowning at his phone when a blacked-out van pulled up and a hood was thrown over his head and shoved into the van before it peeled out. A snatch and grab done within thirty seconds, only professionals would be so brazen to kidnap an officer. The only way Cas didn’t put up a fight was if he was overpowered, more than likely drugged by the way he went limp before being hauled in the van.  </p><p>Fear has ceased up his lungs, but rage had taken over his operating functions. </p><p>They took his partner, his fucking partner; hell hath no fury as a Winchester scorned. </p><p>When, and he means fucking when he gets his hands on these fuckers, they better hope there isn’t a single misplaced hair on Cas’s head. </p><p>Thinking logically as he paced a whole in the tile at the station, kidnappings tended to be followed by demands and as much as it was killing he’d have to be patient—wait for whoever thought they were hot shit to call and demand whatever in exchange for his partner’s life. </p><p>The call an hour later, the distorted voice wanted one thing—Dick Roman; Dick Roman in exchange for Officer Novak. Except they didn’t just take Cas, no kidnap him, and took him to fucking Cuba where they had no police power. The call went dead leaving Dean with a location, a time, and an exchange request. The only lasted 45 seconds and was placed from a burner so tracing the call was impossible. </p><p>The Captain pulled him into his office, not two seconds after the line went dead, “Son,” Bobby placed a firm hand on his shoulder, “I need you to keep your wits about you; you know we don’t negotiate with hostiles, not on foreign soil.”</p><p>“We can’t leave Cas to die in Cuba!” Dean’s heart leaped into his throat. He couldn’t lose him, he let the man he lov—he couldn’t let Cas slip through his fingers no matter the cost. </p><p>“I can see whatever crazy shit you’re cooking up in your mind,” Bobby scrubbed a hand down his face like a frustrated parent.</p><p>“I’m going to get him Bobby; I’m going to bring his ass home and whip his ass myself for letting himself get fucking taken by a bunch of assholes.” </p><p>“Boy, I said the U.S. government doesn’t work with hostiles, I never said we were going to leave one of our own in the hands of some damn criminal; we get him ourselves.”</p><p>Dean nodded, trying to inhale air. An unsanctioned black op was risky—possibly career-ending. </p><p>“I’m coming too.” Dean’s head snapped at the same speed as Bobby’s at the sound of Sam’s voice filling the office. “Don’t look at me like that Dean, Bobby filled me in on the kidnapping; Cas is family and I’m going with you to get him back.”</p><p>“Sam—” Dean started to protest when of all fucking people Gabriel stepped out behind his mountain man of a brother.</p><p>“Hey, Dean-o. I’m coming too.” Gabe said rolling around a sucker in this mouth.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here Gabriel?”</p><p>“Ouch, first Cassie is my favorite cousin and I’d hate to see him die; second if you want into Cuba without making a peep, I’m your guy. I have how do you say—select resources we are going to need to pull this off.”</p><p>And to add to the interruption sundae, Charlie side-step both men squeezing herself into the office, “I’m coming too, you’re going to need my skills.” She turned towards Bobby, “Oh, you must be someone important, I work here now as of right now except with my help on the last case you can just backpay me. Girl’s gotta eat you know?” Charlie smiled with cheekiness. </p><p>Fuck, what could Dean say? He was choked up, blessed didn’t even begin to describe how he was feeling. There’d be time for some more click-flick moments—hugs and tears and lifesaving thanks—but right now, right now they needed a fucking plan and a damn good one to bring Cas home safe and sound, “Alright, we are going to need one hell of a plan.”</p><p>His team nodded and the first time since seeing the tape of Cas being kidnapped Dean felt it—hope. </p><p> </p><p>Jesus, Dean thought; one of these days he was going to ask Cas how deep the Novak’s pocket ran as he squirmed in the oversized leather chair, frowning into his whiskey tumbler inside Gabriel’s private jet. Dean elected to ignore the fact Gabriel had his own fucking private plane and owned an airstrip in the middle of nowhere; he also elected to ignore the fact Gabriel had dangerous contacts in Cuba who were going to help them. The less he knew about Cas’s cousin’s double life or potentially criminal life the better. He was operating outside the rules right now, who was he to judge?</p><p>“I can see your gears working on overtime from here Dean-o,” Gabriel said, sitting across from him. </p><p>Sipping slowly, Dean flicked his eyes up to the other man; picking his words carefully, “Do you afford this all—”</p><p>“Legally? Yes.” Gabe shrugged like it was the most obvious honest, “Besides the Novak fortune, I am filthy rich in my own right. Casa Erotica is a company I built from the ground up and remains one of the world’s leading adult film producers and to this day I am the majority shareholder.”</p><p>Dean tried to pick up his slack jaw, he really was going to have a talk with Cas about what information was considered important and leaving out impertinent facts, “So, you weren’t a porn star?”</p><p>“Oh no, I was a fabulous porn star!” Gabe smiled, “I just found the other side of the business more lucrative, and being in such an industry has garnered me—” Gabe twirled his fingers in the air, trying to piece together a sentence in a particular way, “—Special friendships. People’s love for sex pays in more ways than just money.” Gabe leaned forward, his usual teasing demeanor gone, “Cassie, is my favorite cousin, gave me home when I hit rock bottom. I owe him and Dean.” Gabriel’s eye narrowed into dagger points, “I know all about his feelings for you if you hurt him in any way—”</p><p>Dean leaned forward and cut him off, “I have no intentions of hurting Cas, but let me set things straight here. I’m thankful for your help but don’t think I haven’t seen the way you’ve been eyeing my brother.”</p><p>“Seems we have a truce on our hands,” Gabe finally smiled, melting back into the leather chair. </p><p>“Seems so,” Dean said, slamming back his whiskey; hoping the Jack would ease his fraying nerves. He hated flying; hated steel death traps—feet meant to be on the ground. And when his feet touched ground in Cuba, he was bringing hellfire with him. </p><p> </p><p>Gabriel wasn’t kidding about his reach or his resources. Whatever special friendships he had; they were <em>something</em>. They were provided with extra men, gear that was better than swat unit had been previously and state of the art surveillance with heat signature technology which Charlie was practically drooling over to get her hands on. </p><p>The plan itself could only be labeled as one thing—Winchester stupid. </p><p>Walking into the designated warehouse location, Dean held tight to his prisoner; scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of life. His steps echoed off the concrete floor. One hand on the prisoner, the other hand on his gun in his hip holster. </p><p>He kept his step even, his breath-focused; ears and eyes adjusting minute to minute for any type of movement or sound. </p><p>Someone has watched too many B-rated action films because in the center of the warehouse tied to a chair was Cas; his head slumped slightly with an accompanying rag mouth gag and underneath the dramatic swinging lightbulb, Dean could make out a split lip, eyebrow and possibly a broken nose. Cas put up one hell of a fight, atta boy; Dean felt a pang of sympathy for the other guys knowing they probably looked a hell of a lot worse than his partner. </p><p>“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Dean called out, approaching the center tentatively. </p><p>He heard the unmistakable sound of a round being chamber; Dean stilled instantly, waiting. </p><p>Now the sound that followed the cock of a gun surprised Dean—the click-clack of high heels against the concrete floor. A beautiful, and he does mean beautiful woman stepped into the light; gun pressed against Cas’s temple. Her hair resembled fire done up in a 1950’s hairstyle with matching blood-red lips and heavy black winged eyeliner; her posture demanded respect and attention and Dean knew, knew deep in his gut.</p><p>“Always nice to meet the face behind the operation in person,” Dean said, drawing his gun from his hip holster and pointing it at his hostage’s head. </p><p>“You don’t seem surprised that I’m a woman,” the boss behind this whole orchestra spoke.</p><p>“I’m not,” Dean admitted, “This whole operation was clean, smart, overly neat in a way a man could never accomplish. You seem to put criminals behind bars for a living and men are always boastful about their conquests, a woman though she could operate from the shadows and never blink an eye. Colored me impressed…sorry didn’t catch your name.”</p><p>His flattery seemed to win him a smile, “Since you won’t be walking out of here alive, I see no harm in telling you my name. You can call me Abaddon—” She moved her finger to the trigger of her Sig 9mm, “—Now hand over Dick and your delicious partner here doesn’t eat a bullet.”</p><p>“Forgive me for asking, but why is this bag of shit worth it?” Dean asked, inching himself closer. </p><p>“He’s not.” Abaddon smiled. “He’s simply a loose end.” And in the blink of an eye, she put two slugs center mass into his hostage. </p><p>Instinctively he dropped his hostile and brought his other hand to steady his weapon pointed at the heart of the evil bitch. </p><p>“Now—” Dean tracked the bitch’s movements; gun still pointed, safety off as she trailed her fingers along Cas’ chest, “—Since it’s just the three of us, why don’t we have some fun?” Cas finally blinked his eyes open, slowly coming to consciousness. “You see, I’ve stayed on top because I am ruthless and when I want something,” she grasped a fist full of his partner’s hair, yanking his head, “I take it.”</p><p>“How about this,” Dean said, taking another step forward causing Abaddon to shove her 9mm underneath Cas’s chin but the sight didn’t deter Dean. “You get your grubby hands off my partner and you get to keep all your fingers for when I haul your ass off to prison bitch.”</p><p>“Oh my, quite fond of your little partner here are you?” Her devilish grin more wicked than any demon Dean has had the pleasure of coming across. </p><p>“Let me make this clear. You get your hands off my <em>boyfriend</em> and get you to walk out here with your life.” Dean seethed which only earned him a deep chuckle from Abaddon. </p><p>“You and what fucking army boy scout?” And boy wasn’t that the million-dollar question. </p><p>Managing to inch is way close enough, Dean could finally see those beautiful ocean eyes he missed so much; they darted to him down to his hands to the side where Ms. Bitch was still holding a pistol to his stubbled sharp jaw. Awareness swam through those baby blues and Dean flashed his infamous <em>I’m about to do something stupid</em> smile. </p><p>“Well funny story there,” Dean said, gun still pointed high, “Seems since the bust, your authority has been called into question and I’ve also heard you pay like shit.” Dean moved his finger to the trigger, testing the limits of the 5-pound trigger. “So, the question was what army I brought? The answer is yours.” </p><p>“WHAT!” Rage flared through the redhead voice’s, creating an opportunity as Abaddon straightened herself up aiming her weapon at Dean and completely underestimating the cunningness of the man right under her nose. As she swiveled to aim at Dean, she also released her hold on Cas; her biggest mistake because the moment Cas was free, he leaned forward and threw all his weight back headbutting the bitch right in the stomach allowing Dean to take a shot. </p><p>Damn, they made a good team; Abaddon went down with a shout; gun skirting across the concrete floor. </p><p>“Breach, breach,” Dean yelled into his earpiece. While some of Abaddon’s men were able to be bought, they had to take out the ones that could not be. Dean wasn’t taking any chances on any lingering goons again. He didn’t bother waiting for the sound of the footfalls of the other men to rush forward to his partner. </p><p>“Hey,” Dean said gently, up close he could see all the bruises and cuts littering Cas’s face, yet he was still the most gorgeous man Dean has had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Removing the rag from Cas’s mouth, Dean placed a quick to Cas’s lips; a reminder he was alive; he was safe; Dean was taking him home. </p><p>Pulling back slowly, Dean held his eyes close a bit longer to soak in the moment. When he opened them, Cas was looking at him with reverence before his face melted into open face adoration, “Hello, Dean.”</p><p>Taking a folder out of his boot, Dean flicked open the knife and set to cutting Cas free from his restraints; smiling “I’m going to kick your ass for giving a scare like that, you asshole.”</p><p>Even after all this, Cas had the strength to roll his eyes at Dean. Apparently being kidnapped didn’t dampen his sassiness, “I can think of a million other things I can do with my <em>boyfriend</em> as soon as we get home than get my ass kicked.” </p><p>Dean flushed, holding his hand out to help Cas stand. “I—well—you are my partner and my <em>partner</em>—I—come on man, I just saved you and you’re going to put me on the spot?”</p><p>“Dean Winchester, you are the most insufferable man and—” Cas stood up on slightly wobbly, cradling Dean’s face between both his hands like he was irreplaceable museum artifact, “—and I am grateful for you saving my life though, my life was not worth the imaginable risk I’m sure you took.”</p><p>“Cas, your life means everything to me.” Dean spit out, unable to stop his bubbling emotions. </p><p>“You’re so stupid, but you’re my stupid,” And Cas pulled him gently and Dean went, meeting Cas halfway in a kiss so tender it’d make a Michelin Chef weep. Dean knew Cas was saying I love you in his own way between the lines and fuck, it felt so damn good. A cleared voice snapped them apart and when the hell did the warehouse become filled with men? Looking over Cas’s shoulder, Bobby was handcuffing Abaddon and hauling her outside. </p><p>And behind them, “What the fuck Dean-o?! You let me get fucking shot?” came Gabriel’s voice. Cas’s brow furrowed and tilted his head at the sight of his cousin. </p><p>Dean turned to look over his shoulder, “You were wearing a vest, Gabe, I’m sure you’re just fine.”</p><p>At the same time, Cas questioned “Gabriel?” like he had gotten hit in the head and couldn’t believe his eyes. </p><p>“Cassie! We need to have a talk about your partner here!” Gabe snatched his cousin from Dean’s arm, carting Cas towards the exit. </p><p>“Take him to the medic at least!” Dean called out at their retreating forms; shaking his head in disbelief that they actually managed to pull this off. </p><p>An hour later they were on Gabe’s plane back to the states. </p><p>Two hours later, everyone was laughing at him as he got on his knees and almost kissed the ground because seriously fuck flying steel death traps.  </p><p>Four hours later after a damn lecture from Bobby’s superiors about their actions, the team split up for the night. While the higher-ups were furious with everyone’s involvement, they couldn’t argue with bringing in one of the world’s most dangerous drug lords and criminal masterminds. The lecture was no more than a slap on the wrist and nasty political words. </p><p>Six hours later Dean found himself nestled in Cas’s memory foam; Cas tucked into his side; his bruises on full display. </p><p>“Feathers,” Dean kissed into the mop of Cas’s hair.</p><p>“Ugh,” Cas looked up with a frown of disgust from the nickname, “Freckles.” He sneered. </p><p>“Hey,” Dean thumbed at his cheek, avoiding the purple and blue areas, “I mean in it sincerely,” Cas tilted his head in that adorable way in which started Dean’s stupid crush the first time he saw it; it was about time he came clean altogether, “What I mean is, I’ve never told you the reason I call you feathers.”</p><p>Cas narrowed his eyes while keeping his head tilted, waiting for Dean to continue, “Do you remember the first time we met?”</p><p>“It’s hard to forget someone who calls you a rich asshole in an ugly ass trench coat playing cop.” Cas recited. </p><p>Dean cringed, okay he was a downright asshole the first time they met, “Okay, I was an asshole but come on man you were kind of intense and I thought I was being partnered with a pompous rich prick with a stick up his ass.”</p><p>“And I thought I was being partnered with a loudmouth lumberjack.” Cas still looked skeptical at where Dean was going with this.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah you got feisty with me; it threw me for a loop. I’m pretty intimidating to most people but you looked me dead in the eyes and basically told me to go fuck myself.” Dean grinned fondly at the memory, bringing his hand up to run it through Cas’s strands, “You puffed your chest up, and your hair was sticking up every which way and you reminded me of a cute little riled up bird.”</p><p>“A cute riled up bird? That’s why you’ve been calling me feathers?” Cas asked, trying to piece the whole thing together from the snippets Dean was providing. </p><p>“Yeah a slip of the tongue really, what I’m trying to say is—” Dean took a deep breath, flaying his heart open for the man he had nearly lost earlier today, “—I’m saying you were so damn adorable, you made me flustered enough to accidentally give you a dumbass nickname and Cas I’ve been lost on you ever since.” </p><p>Cas slow blinked at him, head still tilted. God, maybe he was being an idiot here but then Cas leaned up and kissed him breathless before pulling back, wincing from his split lip. Dean giggled as Cas frowned. </p><p>“Idiot,” Dean said around his small giggles, pressing their foreheads together. </p><p>“Says you,” Cas breathed into the space between them before tucking himself back into Dean’s side. </p><p>“Yeah but I’m your idiot.” Dean smiled squeezing the grump in his arms. </p><p>“Shut up Dean, we do have to work tomorrow.” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah the next adventure awaits, and another bad guy is out there just waiting for us to catch ‘em.” </p><p>Cas huffed, nuzzling himself impossibly close to Dean as if Dean were his human space heater and Cas was on a mission to absorb all of his warmth. “Well, I’m going to need sleep if you want me to be functional.”</p><p>His half-asleep butter brain had other intentions than letting Cas sleep, mostly just rambling, “No think about it, we start at square one tomorrow. Our next new adventure for Feathers and Freckles. Yeah, what do you think Cas, the good cop, bad cop adventures of Feathers and Freckles?” </p><p>Cas hummed, voice sleep soft, “More like bad cop, worse cop.”</p><p>“The bad cop, worse cop adventures of Feathers and Freckles.” Dean mused, drawing lazy circles on his partner’s back as his brain kept on his chugging along. </p><p>“I like it,” Cas smacked his lips, eyes closed; already halfway to dreamland. </p><p>“I love it,” Dean commented back, sleep sneaking upon him as well. </p><p>“I love you,” Cas whispered followed by a soft snore. </p><p>Dean’s heart stopped beating, he shifted to take in the rumpled man he was head over heels in love with; the same man who beat him to the punch on everything it seemed. Tomorrow would mean risking their lives again in the line of duty, collaring Miami’s worst. Tomorrow they would be Officer Winchester and Officer Novak—Feather and Freckles striking fear into the hearts of scumbags. </p><p>Tonight; tonight, Dean was basking in the afterglow of Cas’s first I love you, and in true Cas fashion the cheeky fucker said it and fell asleep. </p><p>“Love you too,” Dean whispered back, kissing his lover’s forehead. He smiled at the sappiness of the moment, knowing they’d be few and far between them with the lives they lead and work they do. </p><p>Somehow a man with everything to lose fell in love with a man with everything to prove and they became an unstoppable, banter-slinging, scumbag capturing force with many, many stories yet to tell.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! I am so glad you read this story, and made it to the end. If you read the last line, there will probably be other smaller time stamps set in this universe in the future. Don't think I forgot about Charlie or Sam in this. This work took a massive amount of time, energy, and love. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking time out of your busy life to read this. And thank you to all who helped me accomplish this. </p><p>See you around this universe sometime.</p><p>Love. Alice.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you click that next chapter button and see what adventure our boys find themselves in. Comments are most welcome! And please give my artist some love!</p><p>Also, if you like my writing check out some by the people who made this story possible!</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228286/chapters/37934285">The Cost of A Thing by WanderingCas</a></p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702312/chapters/49176623">A Special Place: One of my favorite, and the prologue to Emblue-sparks BDBB that will be posting soon!</a></p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24576595/chapters/59356078">Let Me: My smut teacher, Winchestersingerautorepair, also participated in the BDBB, please go give her love some work!</a></p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546442/chapters/59273230">Escape From Eden: Also check out this lovely story written for the DOBB by DeanieWeanieWrites</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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